Light of Lordaeron
by Necronicus
Summary: Arthas broke up with Jaina in their youth, due to mutual conflicting duties - yet meets a young elf ranger by accident in his moment of sorrow; who might change his future and the future of Lordaeron.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 1: Prologue_

**XXX**

"Why are you doing this Jaina?! Do you hate me?!" asked a sixteen year old boy of golden hair and blue eyes, wearing an illustrious white and blue robes with the golden symbol of Lordaeron his chest - the future king and current Crown Prince of Lordaeron, Arthas Menethil.

Arguing in one of the buildings in the famous mage-city of Dalaran, occupied by a close childhood friend of him.

"Please stop it Arthas," begged back Jaina, a young trainee, barely fifteen in age and daughter of Grand Admiral Daelin Proudmoore of Kul'tiras. Her long golden locks hiding her face and the long violet robes hiding her shaking body. "You knew this was a childhood fantasy."

"Why?! There isn't any troubles in the world - any wild orcs are far from here," argued back Arthas.

"That's not the point Arthas. I need to focus on my studies and you on your kingdom," spoke Jaina. "You also mentioned you wanted to become a paladin too."

"Jaina, I have years until that!" argued Arthas. "...and my father is in great health, despite his old age."

"How long can we keep this a secret?" asked Jaina. "How long before your start studying as a paladin and me a mage? Would we ever visit each other then? Would we be able to deal with the thought of not seeing each other?"

"I..." sighed Arthas defeat. Jaina knew of the bitter truth between their childhood liking - Jaina's studies would make her one day, sadly unreachable. Same would go for Arthas, when his father would pass on or when he became a paladin. "No?"

"I'm saving us both, from a problem and heartache later," said Jaina. That had been another problem in her life - too smart for her own good. "We can still be friends and keep in touch via letters."

"Yeah...sure..." sighed Arthas, leaving the room and walking outside, not bothering to look behind him.

Jaina watching him leave from her window - Arthas was sad and angry, but Jaina was certain that this was better for both of them, yet it saddened her as well to break it up - he had been her first kiss and all, with them having much fun as kids as well. However Jaina knew that the older they became, the less they'd see each other - better to end it now, than risk an incident when they were adults.

Meanwhile outside, the young price wasn't in the best or politest mood in his life; Jaina and him had know eachother since childhood, yet she still turned him away. While he now had many reasons to never speak to Jaina ever again, he wasn't that cold or heartless- yet the whole incident made him angry, sad...pissed at himself and the world.

"Damnit..." cursed Arthas, kicking a small stone ahead in the park, through a bush and hitting something or somebody judging by the sound of pain. 'Uh-oh.'

"Ow..." mumbled a young elf female, stepping out of the bushes and holding her knee. She had long golden hair, blue eyes and a blue and green cloak covering her body. "Watch where your kicking stuff kid!"

'Kid?!' thought Arthas annoyed, the high elf, herself looked no younger than him. "I'm a prince, not kid."

"Could've fooled me!" replied the high elf, her face looking annoyed and pissed - similar to Arthas.

As much as it could've turned into an argument, Arthas wasn't in a mood to go picking a fight, even with strangers or a female, or with an elf for that matter. He resigned to sighing loudly and sitting onto the park bench.

"I'm sorry. I just got some bad news and I'm angry - I was having a bad day. I apologize for my actions," said Arthas in a polite and formal tone, hoping to salvage this mess, before it got messy.

"Who died?" she asked, suprisingly taking a seat next to Arthas, her arms crossed.

"Died? Oh no - nobody died...just..." said Arthas sighing. "...I broke up with my childhood friend due to our various 'duties' - she is right although. But it doesn't make it any fair or right... and why did I tell you that?"

"It's okay. My lips are sealed," she replied, understand the young human's problems. "Actually, believe it or not _prince_, I as well saw someone close leave. We weren't close, not in any known way or I don't think he knows about it or me...and why did I tell _you_ this?"

"Guess we both have problems," said Arthas smiling, forgetting his half-assed problems for the moment. "Strange fate."

"Guess we do," she replied, smiling as well - forgetting her troubles as well and the fact, that she had been hiding in the bushes so nobody could see her sorrow.

"How is your knee...I mean does it still hurt?" asked Arthas half-akwarded, trying to fix his current blunder.

"Its stings a bit," she replied, although in reality she had got a direct-hit into her knee joint, which would sting like crazy on her way home to Quel'thalas. "Although, I should've been more alert, I'm a ranger and an elf after all.

"May I help? I am learning to be a paladin, so I know some holy magic. I could...fix my stupidity," said Arthas, half-embarrassed.

"Umm...ok," she replied, shrugging. She had nothing to lose by trusting him and he seemed like a kind person, albeit a bit shy and weird one.

"Okay..." said Arthas, as he focused his mind and started to cast the healing spell he had learned. He wasn't sure if it would work - yet to his luck his hands were soon glowing brightly and he healed the elf's scraped knee. "Sorry about that..."

"Well..." she replied, feeling her leg where the was pain moments ago and now was gone. "I'll say that, you'd make an excellent priest, paladin...maybe."

"Oh...thanks," said Arthas, standing up and little pink in the face. "Well I guess I _should_ depart, my duties await me."

"Ok, mine too," she added, standing up as well. "Oh...I never got your name..."

"Oh sorry. Prince Arthas Menethil," said Arthas, extending his hand.

"Oh...prince of Lordaeron," she replied, realizing his identity and shaking his hand. "Sylvanas Windrunner of Quel'thalas."

"A pleasure to meet you _Lady_ Sylvanas," said Arthas, kissing her hand.

"Keep your Lady title, they don't suit a ranger," replied Sylvanas, chuckling a bit. "Well..._Al diel shala_ - it means safe travels in elven."

"Okay and _Shorel'aran_ to you," said Arthas, suprising Sylvanas with his knowledge, as they soon left their separate routes, in a calmer mood than when they met suprisingly.

Fate was a weird thing, as neither knew it, but the two would meet again one day.

**XXX**

**A/N: An AU story I got cooking here; lacking of good!Arthas stories, so I am writing this one. Lore-wise:**

**- Arthas and Jaina ended their relationship (I think).**

**- Arthas has been to Quel'thalas as a boy.**

**- Why not go after elf girl?**

**And so on, highlight any lore stuff I'm missing or got wrong. Also can you guess Sylvanas' crush? It rhymes with Vael'thas...**

**Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 2: New Beginning_

**XXX**

Wondrous. Eternal. Few words could describe the beauty of Quel'Thalas - an exotic city, with a culture and heritage more older than the humans of the continent. Land of the Eternal Sun, where it was warm and sunny all year long.

Sylvanas mentally laughed at the last myth: Quel'Thalas had in reality three seasons - the renewing spring, the warm summer and the mild autumn. It was a barely noticed by the high elves nowadays - most studying or practicing magic, yet for a ranger, a Farstrider and for Sylvanas it was as noticeable as day and night. She was the Ranger-General of Silvermoon, charged with protecting Quel'Thalas from dangers both outside and in.

Her current assignment was tracking down and killing a group of trolls, who had been causing too much trouble for the local merchants.

"Anything?" asked her co-ranger, Nathanos Marris; a human and Sylvanas' proudest achievement.

A Ranger Lord, one of a kind - many had wanted to dismiss him Halduron, Lor'themar, the House of Sunstrider included. They had wanted to dismiss him, because he was a human and not ranger material. Who was laughing now, cerainly not them - Nathanos Marris had the tenacity, drive and valor of any Farstrider, maybe even more.

"What do you see?" asked Sylvanas, as she let Nathanos examine the trail.

"Well..." he mumbled, eyeing the tracks. "Fast moving...carried...somebody, a female or a male kid...tired..."

"Good eye..." she replied, as they kept following. Nathanos didn't have the keen elven sense or sight, yet he made up with his cleverness, quick-thinking and improvising.

They made their way through several forests, and over a river when they spotted their prey - two trolls and a tied up high-elf girl.

"Alright..." whispered Sylvanas, nocking an arrow with Nathanos following. "Take the farthest one, I'll aim for the one near the girl. Take it down..."

Nathanos soon took aim, from a crouched position - aimed at troll' left chest, a few taps below - then he let loose, straight through the heart and dead. Sylvanas' arrow following, straight between the eyes and dead before it hit the ground.

They both then exit the high-grass and made their way towards the scared girl - Sylvanas removing her blindfold and gag, then releasing her from the restraints.

"By the Sunwell, I thought I was dead..." mumbled the girl, half-shaking. "Thank you..."

"Not worry, the Farstriders heard your pray and we came," replied Sylvanas. "Nathanos, get this girl back to Silvermoon - I'll mop up this trash."

"Got it!" replied Nathanos, as he started to help the girl back home.

Sylvanas was proud, he was a good ranger, a great Farstrider who could track almost every creature in Quel'Thalas; yet for everything good he had one weakness, he's Thalassian dialect was still rusty. Despite minimum human contact and the semi-language barrier, Marris had still opted to stay in Quel'Thalas; bringing some excitment to a usual hunting day.

**XXX**

After two hours of cleaning and tracking down several trolls, Sylvanas was left with a body count of seven trolls. They were less and less trolls nowadays, yet each time they eliminated one encampement it would take several months to locate another one - the more they kill, the more spread out the trolls become; atleast they weren't organized to more than a simple raid-group. So until then, they could be handled and the high-elves didn't need to mobilize any large armies.

She soon was past the guards of Silvermoon and into the great elven city. High elves were moving about in the busy streets and districts of the grand city: buying, selling, studying and shuffling about; young, old, male and female alike. It was her duty to protect this city and every last elf here - being a Ranger-General wasn't easy, despite her young age by elven standards, it was demanding and only _the_ best could lead, and she was it.

Sylvanas' current agenda was to check up on the scared elf girl. While the questioning was always the difficult part, the captured usually gave out only scarce information, but pieced together by a Farstrider that information would give them some clues about finding other trolls or understanding their ambush tactics.

The Farstriders were mostly stationed outside of Silvermoon, yet being closer to the Sunwell seemed to calm down the captured elves quicker, than if they were outside.

"...incident...spread...plague...Lordaeron..." spoke voices, that caught her ear.

Sylvanas stopped immediately upon hearing the word 'Lordaeron' - it caught her attention for a reason, that or the word _plague_.

Returning to the source, which was inside a building, she found Priestess Liadrin and two other priests eyeing a nearby map, which seemed to be of Lordaeron.

"...if this...oh..." realized Liadrin when she spoted Sylvanas, getting up and greeting the Ranger. "Lady Sylvanas, what brings you to my house?"

"I...sorry, I heard you talking about something - relating to Lordaeron and some plague," said Sylvanas.

"Of course - namely there are rumours of some kind of plague sweeping across the Lordaeron kingdom," spoke Liadrin, showing the map of Lordaeron and several places highlighted in red. "While it isn't worrysome, the scale of it is - there have been several reports, from minor towns and villages; yet it is spread mostly in the eastern part."

"And right on our doorstep..." replied Sylvanas, looking at the map.

"Not to worry, the enchanted runestones, elfgates and forests protects us," said Liadrin. "Yet, what worries me is the suffering. Light-given it's amoral to be allowed this suffering to happen and not help. So two of my pupils here had agreed to go and help the Lordaeron."

"It's against the Light," spoke one, a male.

"I agree, we must give them some aid!" added the other, appearing to be brothers.

'Priests...' thought Sylvanas, rolling her eyes. "How'd you get there, and where will you start? Some of the roads to these places have bandit or creature activity."

"The Light will guard us," said one.

"We heard, that the Prince of Lordaeron himself is looking into this," added the other priest.

'Prince of Lordaeron? Damnit, where have I heard that name?' thought Sylvanas, remembering something, yet not quite recalling it. "May I accompany you?"

"...M'Lady...?" asked Priestess Liadrin suprised. "Are you sure?"

Sylvanas was a bit suprised herself at that question, yet eyeing the map brought up some weird feelings in her and usually that spelled _danger_. She had a semi-worried feeling, a quick clance at the map approved her choice.

"Yes, I am!" replied Sylvanas.

"But...your the Ranger-General...well...I don't mind...and my pupils would be delighted to have you accompany them. There is just one problem..." spoke Liadrin.

'Anasterian,' she realized. "I'll go talk to him myself, meet me on the outskirts of Silvermoon. I'll see if I can get permission by then."

"Very well, we will meet you there Lady Sylvanas," said Liadrin, as Sylvanas departed for the royal palace.

Outside, she immediately bumped into Nathanos, who she wanted to talk to as well.

"So you're heading for Lordaeron?" asked Nathanos.

"Yes - something about this gives me weird feelings and those usually mean something bad is about to happen," replied Sylvanas. "I'd rather deal with it in Lordaeron, than in our lands."

"Alright."

"As such I want Lor'themar Theron to temporarily take over my assignments."

"Alright, I'll go inform him of this _temporary_ _change_," replied Nathanos.

"One more thing. Try not to tear eachother apart, if I leave," she added.

"Well try," he replied, heading to find Lor'themar, while Sylvanas headed for the royal palace.

**XXX**

Sylvanas walked through the hallowed Silvermoon Palace, her hood down and her head tilted infront - a sign of respect here. Because this was the place were the Silver Circle and King Anasterian Sunstrider ruled over all of Quel'Thalas and lead the high elven people. The King himself having ruled for three thousand years, since the Troll Wars to the Second War upto today.

She was soon allowed passage into the throne room, where sat the elven king Anasterian - he had grown old, his hair had turned from sun yellow to stone gray and his body seemed more frail than usual; yet beyond those eyes stood hundreds of years of wisdom, knowledge and power. Resting on his was the ancient runeblade Felo'melorn. Despite her title and family heritage, she was still excepted to bow before the king.

"King Sunstrider..." spoke Sylvanas in her most graceful tone, bowing before the great Sunstrider.

"Speak your business. What brings you here, Lady Sylvanas?" asked Anasterian.

"My king...you may have heard about the plague, ravaging Lordaeron?" she asked.

"I have..." he replied, calmly awaiting her to continue.

"I've found that two elven priests would like to head to Lordaeron to help with this _plague_," she spoke, eyeing the king's reaction. "I'd like permission to accompany them."

"Interesting...and what would the Ranger-General of _Silvermoon_, be interested in human affairs?" he asked, hiding his 'mild' distaste about working with humans.

"This...plague seemed to be concentrated near Eastern Lordaeron, near our borders. As such I find it my duty, to help keep this plague away from our lands. As well as to make sure, that our elven brethren make it home safely later after aiding our fellow kingdom," spoke Sylvanas - hinting at the slight threats to Quel'Thalas, her sworn duty to defend against it, the prevention of casualties and to keep 'good' relations with their human kingdoms.

"What of _your_ duties?" he asked, hinting at the defending of Silvermoon and Quel'Thalas.

"I believe Lor'themar Theron can temporarily handle my duties, until I return," replied Sylvanas. "He is a very good Farstrider, as well as commands respect. His skills with a bow are only third to Halduron Brightwing."

"Hmm.." Anasterian was silently pondering on the thought of sending another _Windrunner_ outside of Quel'Thalas. While elves were permited to leave, the kingdom itself kept an isolated policy since the Second War. While he wasn't liking the idea of sending the Ranger-General herself to investigate this 'plague', he knew to keep up face and good-terms with Lordaeron - it being the largest and most influental member in the Alliance.

"You...may accompany them...yet only observe and lend aid when absolutely needed," spoke Anasterian. "After this, I expect you to return to Silvermoon with haste and report back, what you have found."

"Thank you, my king," replied Sylvanas, turning on her heels and leaving.

Anasterian was left to ponder on his choice - while Quel'Thalas would be without its great Ranger, this incident south could gain him political rapport with the Alliance. After all the Ranger-General of Silvermoon was a _very_ prestigious and respected title for a high elf, and by simply sending her along, Anasterian could easily gain a favor or two. How bad could this plague be anyway?

**XXX**

Five days later, Sylvanas and his two priest companions had reached the town of Brill. It was a small town, yet already she could smell a bad stench about it - it was disgusting and had an unholy feeling to it, as if it was marked by death.

There were several places burning around them, including several disfigured creatures that seemed to be the problem here. Sylvanas took them down with a few, well shot arrows.

"What are these things?" asked Sylvanas, as she eyed the corpses.

"Strange. They seemed to be undead creatures, somewhat similar to the ones the orc death knights used against us in the Second War," spoke one priest. "Yet these seem more...improved, dangerous."

"We got some more way to go, before we get onto the road to Andorhal," said Sylvanas.

"I feel an evil taint coming from that direction, I can feel it and smell it," spoke a priest.

"I see..." said Sylvanas, climbing onto a building and looking far. "...you're right. A warehouse, on our way and it doesn't look like it's shipping grain anymore."

"Very well...we should-" said one, until they saw a human group approaching, wearing the crests of Lordaeron.

"Greetings. We are priests from Quel'Thalas. We've come to help heal the land of this strange curse."

"As always, the generosity of the elves is greatly appreciated," replied one young, female mage in the human group.

"You should know that there is a granary warehouse at the far end of this village. This evil blight may be evident there as well."

"We'll check it out."

"Wait, I've seen you before," spoke up Sylvanas, eyeing the young paladin who was their leader. Then it hit her. "You! Prince of Lordaeron!"

"Yes, that I am," replied Arthas confused, along with his men.

"Seven years ago, back in Dalaran?" she asked, reminding of a bad memory as he glanced at Jaina. Then it hit him as well.

"It's you?!"

"Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of Quel'Thalas. At your service," said Sylvanas, as they shook hands like they were old friends.

"Guess the world is small; I never expected to meet you again," replied Arthas.

"Well, let's save the reunion for later. As I recall, you got a plague on the loose," said Sylvanas.

"Yes, of course. This is Jaina Proudmoore, a dear old friend," spoke Arthas, as they started to move up.

"Nice to meet you," replied Jaina, greeting the young ranger.

"And this is Captain Falric," he added, introducing his other friend.

"Appreciate the aid ma'am," replied the captain, as he walked infront with Arthas.

They continued on the path, until they came across a dwarven group nearby, on their way to Andorhal - a mortar group.

"What the hell are you men shooting at?" asked Arthas.

"We're blasting those damned skeletons, sir. This whole flaming village is crawling with them," replied the dwarves, as they fired another shell into the undead in the village.

"Well, I could use your help. We've got a warehouse to destroy at the end of town," said Arthas, as they were all heading towards the warehouse and spotted a group near it.

"We've been discovered, my brothers! Flee and continue with the operation!" barked a black robed man, dismissing the gathered group. "I'm sorry I can't stay and chat, but...duty calls."

They were prepared to follow them, if not for the undead blocking them and an even larger and more grotesque creature emerging from the warehouse.

"That creature looks like it was sewn together from different corpses," said Jaina, looking at the disfigured undead being.

"Let's study it after we kill it, okay?" said Arthas, as he readied his mace and charged forward; Falric and the footmen following them. Sylvanas and Jaina stuck behind and started raining damage from afar. The numerous _smaller_ undead fell quickly, however the bigger undead took more effort. It was a sack of flesh, that took the damage and counter-attacked in force; its cleaver downing one footman and injuring two other.

"That thing...its tough," spoke Jaina, as she pummled it with fireballs.

"Everything has a weak-spot," replied Sylvanas, nocking an enchanted arrow and this time aiming for its head. She then let it fly, into the head and froze its skull - the abomination groaning, before falling down dead.

"Destroy that warehouse, now!" ordered Arthas to the dwarves, who let loose shells that set the warehouse on fire and destroyed it.

"What was that? And who was that wizard dressed in black?" asked Arthas, as the priests were healing the wounded and Sylvanas was keeping her eyes open for any ambushes.

"I believe that the robed man was a necromancer," replied Jaina. "Obviously, he and his lackeys are behind this plague."

"I find that doubting, since necromancery is banned magic to us," said Sylvanas. "And I doubt any human managed to learn and wield necromancy on a scale like this on their own."

"Well, it's a good bet we'll find him, and the answers we're looking for, in Andorhal," replied Arthas, as he watched the warehouse burn down to a crisp, before they started to head towards Andorhal.

**XXX**

**A/N: Sylvanas is tagging along with Arthas and Jaina. Sweet or what?**

**Please review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 3: Andorhal_

**XXX**

Arthas' group was slowly making headway towards Andorhal, where they had hoped to get some answers to this 'plague'. But the way there was long - the necromancer had left several small groups of undead to slow them down. Making their journey take twice as long, with night almost upon them and almost a quarter more to go, before they reached Andorhal.

"I say we make camp, we are no good at night, M'Lord," said Captain Falric to Arthas, as they trecked on foot. "The men are tired as well."

"Captain I..." tried Arthas to say, until he saw the tired faces of his men, Falric, Marwyn, Jaina and even Sylvanas showing minor signs of fatigue. "...very well. Well camp nearby, so we can move quickly."

"Men! We're taking a breather, set up the tents," ordered Falric, which brought minor relief to them of not having to treck at night. As they got to work: tents, fire and firepit. "Sergeant Marwyn you handle this, while I go find firewood."

"Yes, Captain," replied his second-in-command.

Falric soon started to collect some branches, twigs and logs - while the rest helped set camp and dig a firepit.

"Careful...log infront of your foot..." said Sylvanas, joining Falric in collecting firewood.

"Oh...thank you!" replied Falric, as he stepped over the log, hidden by the night. "You see anything else?"

"Not much - just trees and trees, I can see somewhat in the darkness, but I'm not a night animal. Somewhat better than you, yet I'm still taking it slowly in the dark," spoke Sylvanas.

"How long have you known Prince Arthas?" asked Falric.

"I haven't, just bumped into him years ago," replied Sylvanas.

"Oh, pardon my mistake. Just that you two seemed like old friends," he said.

"A few words we had exchanged, nothing much," she replied. "What about the mage? They seem close."

"That's Jaina Proudmoore, daughter of Admiral Proudmoore from Kul'Tiras," answered Falric. "You might think they're close, but they aren't. I had asked M'Lord if they were close when Miss Proudmoore joined us, but he simply answered no, told me they were close once and wanted me to not ask that question ever again. It'd seemed that the young Proudmoore and Prince had some history behind them, yet not anymore."

"Okay..." replied Sylvanas, as they finished their collecting and returned to camp, where Jaina started a fire with her magic.

However, nobody stayed up for long - Jaina going to sleep first, since she was a mage; the men following suit, except for Marwyn who was to take the first watch-duty and would be rotated during the night by them. Sylvanas herself was busy checking on her bow, sitting cross-legged on a log, near the fire.

"You need anything?" asked Arthas, sitting near the fire.

"No..." replied Sylvanas.

"You don't need a sleeping bag? I got an extra blanket in my tent," spoke Arthas.

"...oh...no need," replied Sylvanas, uncrossing her legs. "My hood is for more than appearance. I'm good."

Arthas seemed different, then when they had met. He wore finely made decorated steel armor, that covered his entire body, minus a helmet - giving him the appearance of royalty, yet also of a paladin. A blue cape complimented the blue holy glyphs on his armor and he wielded a mighty maul with ease, that would give her pause. Yet for everything Sylvanas could still see he was young and inexperienced to war.

"What of this plague? How much do you know?" asked Sylvanas, trying to act modestly.

"Well...not much. As much as I know, this seemed to be affecting small villages, Brill is this first larger town of this scale," replied Arthas, thinking over. "Do you anything about these...undead?"

"Not much...undead had attacked my homeland during the Second War, yet they were mostly mindless minions raised by orc warlocks," said Sylvanas. "These seem more...dangerous."

"Do you think orcs are behind this?" asked Arthas.

"I don't think so. Orcs couldn't be subtle enough for an infection of this scale or create something this deadly. Along the fact, that the man in robes seemed to be human, his lackeys included."

"Meaning?" he asked.

"There is someone else leading them..." said Sylvanas. "...or they're getting help from someone."

"Who has that kind of power?" asked Arthas.

"Us...Dalaran...yet we elves don't practice it...not even in the Second War did we want to use, _that_ kind of magic..." spoke Sylvanas. "As for Dalaran, they are the epidome of rules and restrictions...they wouldn't even consider dwelving into dark magic, necromancery included. Former wizards...however are a different story..."

"Let's hope Andorhal gives us some answers," said Arthas, as he stood up and headed for his tent. "Good night, Ranger-General Sylvanas."

"Good night, Prince Arthas," replied Sylvanas, as she was left alone to ponder near the fire. _How bad would this plague turn out to be._

**XXX**

Early the next morning, Sylvanas was awakened by the sound of birds chirping up in the trees. It was almost easy to forget that they were after a madman, who was seemingly spreading a dangerous and deadly plague.

The second thing Sylvanas noticed that she was covered by a fur blanket, despite her objections of not needing one.

"Morning ma'am!" said Captain Falric, as he poked the embers of the fire, being the one on watch-duty in the morning.

"I said I didn't need anything," spoke Sylvanas, as she removed the fur blanket.

"The prince had asked us to cover you up, when you had fallen asleep. He cares for everybodies well-being in the group. Yours included," replied Falric.

"Well...thank you..." mumbled Sylvanas, reigning in her elven pride. "Seems like he has a good heart."

"He does, this is harder for him than for most of us," replied Falric. "He hates seeing his people die."

"Understood..." said Sylvanas, as most of their group started to wake up.

After half an hour of eating and packing, their group started their journey towards Andorhal. Luckily the roads were free from any undead activity, so they made faster progress than they did yesterday.

Arriving on the outskirts of Andorhal around midday, where they already spotted trouble near an abandoned gold mine.

"Look, it's the cultists who were with the necromancer! What are they doing to that mine?" asked Jaina, as she eyed the cultists from afar, who started to chant something near the gold mine.

"Let's not wait to find out! Attack!" yelled Arthas, as they charged forward. Arthas and Sylvanas managing to kill three cultists, before the rest escaped.

"Damn these intruders! They must not interfere with the master's plan!" muttered one of the cultists as they escaped over the hill, their warning echoing to the humans.

"Let's build a base camp here. With those cultists creeping around, I'd rather not head in there without backup," said Arthas, as he eyed their location. _It'd would do._

"I couldn't agree more," replied Jaina in approval.

**XXX**

They spend nearly two hours setting up a base camp and gathering reinforcements from nearby villages, before Arthas gave them the orders to move ahead on Andorhal itself.

"See anything Sylvanas?" asked Arthas.

"Not looking good...I'm already seeing flames and undead in the city..." replied Sylvanas, as she eyed the city from up a tree.

"We need to move fast..." said Arthas, as Sylvanas slided down the tree. "Move out!"

Arthas and his group slowly made their way to Andorhal and were greeted by an unpleasant sight: burning buildings, roaming undead and dead villagers lying on the ground, with ghouls eating their remains. With the same black robed man, standing at the centre of the town.

"Hello again, children. I am Kel'Thuzad, and I've come to deliver a warning. Leave well enough alone. Your curiosity will be the death of you," taunted Kel'Thuzad, as a horde of ghouls and undead grouped near his position.

"Are you responsible for this plague, necromancer? Is this cult your doing?" asked Arthas angrily at the pain and destruction he had caused.

"Yes, I ordered the Cult of the Damned to distribute the plagued grain. But the sole credit is not mine," he replied, suprising everybody.

"What do you mean?" asked Jaina.

"I serve the dreadlord Mal'Ganis. He commands the Scourge that will cleanse this land and establish a paradise of eternal darkness!" spoke Kel'Thuzad, making some of them gringe in disgust.

"And what exactly is this Scourge meant to cleanse?" asked Arthas, taunting the obvious.

"Why, the living, of course. His plan is already in motion. Seek him out at Stratholme if you need further proof," said Kel'Thuzad, as he was prepared to make his leave.

"You're not leaving here alive, necromancer!" spat Sylvanas in anger, as she drew an arrow aimed at Kel'Thuzad.

"I think not," said Kel'Thuzad, casting a spell that raised the dead villagers as zombies. "As for your precious lands elf...it'll fall next as well. Attack!"

"FORM UP!" commanded Falric, as the men raised their shields in defense and met the undead head-on.

The battle commenced, with the footmen infront with Arthas and Captain Falric; Jaina and Sylvanas attacking from behind. Yet they were assaulted from various positions, as the undead came out of the houses as well.

"We're getting hammered here!" yelled Marwyn, holding back the undead.

"Hold tight men!" replied Arthas, swinging Light' Vengeance at the undead and blasting them with holy magic.

"They aren't enough to stop us!" said Sylvanas, dealing with the zombies as they emerged from the houses. Hitting zombie after zombie with her arrows.

"No!" replied Jaina, as she realized Kel'Thuzad' plan, seeing the necromancer make her escape. "HE'S ESCAPING!"

"Not he isn't!" replied Sylvanas, running towards the footmen. "Give me a boost up!"

"Over here!" yelled Falric, bashing an undead back. Ready in time, when Sylvanas jumped onto his shield and he pushed up with his strength. Sending Sylvanas up into the air and over the undead, with a clear line-of-sight at the necromancer.

"Bash'a no falor talah!" muttered Sylvanas, before unleashing her arrow and hitting Kel'Thuzad in the leg.

She herself landed safely, drawing another arrow rapidly and sending it flying at him again, when he tried to get up. Sylvanas then drew fives arrows and let them loose at the undead behind her, drawing five more and repeating, with the undead soon dealt with.

"Nice shot..." said Arthas, as he cleared the last undead.

"It was nothing," replied Sylvanas, as they turned and walked towards the dying necromancer - having been shot in the leg and chest by her.

"Naive fool. My death will make little difference in the long run. For now, the scourging of this land...begins," gurgled Kel'Thuzad, a last warning to them, before the life faded from his body and he died.

"What a mess..." muttered Marwyn, as he looked at the destruction caused by one person.

"This isn't over. We need to go to Stratholme with haste!" spoke Arthas. "Yet Andorhal can't be left in this state. Marwyn!"

"Yes, M'Lord?" asked Marwyn, in attention.

"By my orders, I hereby promote you to Lieutenant," said Arthas.

"Thank you, M'Lord!" replied Marwyn, suprised at his fortune.

"As your first assignment, I want you to fortify this town and wait for the Silver Hand to relieve you. Then make with haste towards Stratholme," spoke Arthas, then looked at the dead body. "...and bury this necromancer. And everyone else."

"M'Lord?" asked Marwyn, suprised at the first request.

"If he only _was_ a servant, then I don't want to risk him returning in any form. He is too dangerous!" replied Arthas. "Bury him as deep as you can, and ask for a paladin to guard his grave at all times."

"As you wish my M'Lord!" said Marwyn.

"This plague is strange..." spoke Sylvanas, plucking a single piece of grain from a busted crate, examining it in her gloved hand.

"Careful with that!" warned Jaina.

"Relax mage, I got an elven runestone from Quel'Thalas with me," said Sylvanas, showing Jaina her small, pocket-sized rune. "It protects me from any dark magic or curse...and _this_ little seed seems to emmanate dark magic."

"What does it mean?" asked Jaina.

"That I need to check something out," said Sylvanas, covering the grain seed in a silk cloth and pocketing it. "Listen, if this plague is dangerous then I need to know how deadly this is. I got a place I can visit, that might give me some answers about this plague...but it's a maybe."

"Very well, but...be careful. My lands seem to be turning on itself and I don't want anybody more killed," replied Arthas, worried about her safety.

"I'll be fine," said Sylvanas. "Once I get some answers, I'll make my way to Stratholme."

"Do you need an escort?" asked Arthas, still worried.

"No need. I'll be faster on my own," replied Sylvanas, as she started to make her way in a running pace.

"Okay! Good luck!" said Arthas, as Sylvanas left. "Let's move!"

"You okay Arthas?" asked Jaina.

"I'm fine," he replied.

In truth, he felt conflicted at the current situation: a town of his destroyed, another in danger and he's worried about a young elven ranger, who could handle herself better than him.

**XXX**

**A/N: Arthas is heading towards Stratholme (Heartglen stop too), can Sylvanas catch up? And what is this 'Sylvanas' place'.**

_*Bash'a no falor talah - Taste the chill of death.*_

**Please review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 4: Stratholme_

**XXX**

Sylvanas was running through the forests of Lordaeron, deciding to avoid the open-roads incase of undead attacks. The forests offering better protection and it felt more at home for Sylvanas. While running through the forests several things spiked her mind: _where did this plague come from, who created these undead and who was the true danger here?_

She didn't have many places to go to, considering the predicament - Dalaran and Quel'Thalas were too far and going to Capital City would waste too much time. So she had to get advice from another source, one of the small, greedy and near-suicidal type - a goblin. Sylvanas soon arrived in a by larger clearing, where a rag-tag large shack stood in the centre of cut trees...a merchant-shop.

She didn't like the goblins in general: obnoxious, self-centered and a complete disregard for any safety for them or any buyer of their stuff. Adding to the insult, that some of the goblins had worked for the orcs and the Horde in the Second War - yet for everything, this _unique_ plague, required a _unique_ touch to crack its secrets.

"Hello?" asked Sylvanas, opening the door which let into the shop. Besides the creaking structure itself and the mechanical parts to keep it intact, the insides were layed out and organized like a regular shop.

"A...customer..." piped the voice of a goblin, from under the counter. Soon a green-head popping out, and looking like the multiple other goblins she had seen in her life. Yet this goblin had more wrinkles and gray hair on his head - a still living, old goblin...was that a unique sight. "What can I offer ya' missy?"

"Oh nothing much here; just an overlook, advice, check-up of an _object_..." said Sylvanas, keeping a neutral face on and trying not to look desperate for information.

"What's the item you need a price-check on?" asked the goblin.

"This..." replied Sylvanas, taking out the silk cloth with the plague grain-seed and letting it fall onto the counter.

"You wanna grow weed from grain - I got some good potions and elixirs, that can make this super-grow in five days. Or better ye-" spoke the goblin, before she held up her hand for him to stop.

"Nono..._this_...this is a plagued grain...one roaming this land..." explained Sylvanas.

"Aahh...interesting..." he said, eyeing the seed. "...doesn't seem a lot..."

"So don't goblins..." replied Sylvanas, tugging on the goblin' pride of big stuff in small things. "...but this is bad. I...wanna know what makes it bad..."

"Well...I'm no alchemist...but I got one stuff here, that could help...for a price..." he said, rubbing his chin.

'Here we go,' thought Sylvanas, putting on her best, indifferent face she had. "10 gold pieces?"

"30...and throw in this elven silk..." he replied, eyeing the silk cloth.

'Greedy indeed...' thought Sylvanas, the silk she had was a simple handkerchief and one she had tailored herself, yet she wouldn't tell the goblin that. "Fine..."

As soon as the gold-coin filled pouch hit the scale, the green merchant immediately sprang into action. Looking through one shelf and cupboard, a weird contraption flying over her head as well.

"Found it!" he replied cheerily, finding it in the back of cupboard. Taking out a vial of clear liquid, that looked like water.

"Here we go..." he added, pulling off the cork and instantly Sylvanas' sense of smell was assaulted by a very strong and horrid stench, making her clutch her nose and cover her watering eyes - it smelled worse than the rotting undead. The goblin looking fine, as it chucked the grain-seed and corked it shut.

"Damn...that stuff reeked!" said Sylvanas, the stench gone as the vial was shut.

"Sure does..." laughed the goblin, tapping the vial. "This is strong stuff...it could eat through metal...if it wanted. Glass included."

"So what is it?" she asked.

"Give it a sec..." he replied, as the seed sank to the bottom and turned the clear liquid into a dark green one. "...okay...book..."

"What?"

"This..." he said, pulling out a rather large tome, which set onto the counter and started to look through it. "Ahaa...dark green...a very poisonous, toxic...or lethal chemical...stuff.."

"Yeah...I could gather that from the plague itself..." replied Sylvanas, a bit pissed.

"...yeah...a magical one..." he added.

"Magic?" asked Sylvanas suprised.

"You see...I wasn't joking, when I said this could eat through metal..." he said, tapping the vial, with the seed staying at the bottom fine. "Only a magical enchantment prevents this...stuff...from eating through the glass...and by far, I could say this...seed has magical properties too..."

'That would make the plague magical in origin,' realized Sylvanas, as her eyes lit up. "Could a dispell work? To remove it?"

"It could...lets try..." he said, bringing out a scroll and read the inscription on it. A light _bhuff_ sounded, as the dispell was casted on the elixir. Soon the concoction ate away the seed, leaving nothing...and ate through the glass, spilling onto the floor. "Uh-oh."

"Oh b-AAH!" yelped Sylvanas, as the floorboard broke and she was sent falling onto the ground, face first into the dirt. '_Goblins_!'

"Ya...sorry about that. Told you, that was powerful stuff!" replied the goblin, from the broken hole above.

'Oh...wait! Magic! Stratholme!' realized Sylvanas, as she got up and started to run towards Stratholme. "Thank you!"

"Another satisfied customer..." sighed the goblin, climbing down to eye the damage and the acid-elixir eating the ground. "...maybe I could sell this as fertilizer..."

**XXX**

Sylvanas was hastily making her way through the forests, getting a few scratches on the way from the branches and twigs hitting her face and legs. She needed to get to Stratholme fast, calling to the forest to grant her plea - answered by a slight gust, showing her the shortest way there.

She ran nearly the rest of the day, stopping only to cross a river or a rocky terrain but not longer. By the time Sylvanas could see Lordaeron' banners flying in the distance, she was panting heavily.

Arriving at Stratholme at dusk, seeing some familiar faces, some not familiar - and seeing both of them leave after arguing with someone ontop of a hill - Arthas.

"Halt! Who goes there?" asked a captain, raising a sword at Sylvanas.

"Ease up captain! She's a friend!" said Arthas, seeing Sylvanas stumble into his camp, out-of-breath and with some scratches and bruises. "Sylvanas?"

"Ye...I...giv...moment..." panted Sylvanas, trying to speak a word yet was too out-of-breath.

"Here!" said Falric, offering her a flask of water, which she greedily accepted - drinking half of it in one go.

"Thanks..."

"I'm glad you made it here. This...plague is more dangerous than I even imagined," spoke Arthas, as priest mended her scratches. "I had visited Heartglen on my way here and...the plague...it doesn't just kill them...**IT turns them** into the undead..."

Sylvanas' face gained a note of suprise once she heard that, yet that would explain everything.

"...and also..." said Arthas, pained at his next words.

"What?" asked Sylvanas.

"Stratholme...its infected...the grain is here...they look fine now...but they'll become undead...real soon..." said Arthas. "...so this city must be purged...I asked aid from Uther, but...he disobeyed me...left...and so did Jaina..."

"...I understand..." replied Sylvanas, suprising Arthas and his men. "While it's a bit extreme and bloody, I understand the idea - cut the branch to save the tree. But I got a better plan."

"You do?!" asked Arthas.

"Yes, now listen..." spoke Sylvanas. "...I found out that this plague is laced with magic - which explains why they raise the dead and why the Light can't aid any of the infected. So here is my plan: we have a few priests and mages to help us, I advocate we spread them around the city in key points, so we can create a powerful and massive **dispell** to purge Stratholme of any magical properties. Doing so...we could purge the plague of turning your people into undead...yet I don't know, if we can cure it later."

Arthas and his men had listened with silence at the Elven' Rangers plan, all to shocked at the possibility...another way.

"Well you heard Miss Sylvanas! Get to work!" ordered Falric, that shook the men up and into work.

"Sylvanas..."

"Yeah w-" asked Sylvanas, before getting grabbed into a hug by Arthas.

"Thank you..."

"Okay..." said Sylvanas, patting him on the back, before being let go. Seeing the same Arthas, from before in his eyes.

"Light-praised Sylvanas! I thank you..." said Arthas, over-joyed. "...I couldn't even fathom this kind of idea...but you...you gave us hope!"

"It was nothing," replied Sylvanas, shaking of the compliments, yet seeing the men move with new vigour and spirit in their eyes. "...I assume it won't be easy."

"No. Mal'Ganis is said to be here," said Arthas, losing the smile but keeping the renewed hope. "...but will deal with him, if he comes."

"Well if anything, I'll help you out," replied Sylvanas, smiling back.

**XXX**

With the new plan, the troops moved with haste into Stratholme, shields close to them with two spellcaster in every group. The new plan, which was hastily drawn up required for two spellcaster, accompanied by Lordaeron' troops per the four districts: Crusaders' Square, Festival Lane, King's Square and Market Row.

Falric was leading the group into Market Row; Marwyn into Crusaders' Square; Luc Valonforth, a captain that joined them from Heartglen lead the charge into Festival Lane; with Arthas and Sylvanas leading the group to King's Square, by far the largest district in the city.

"Set up near the fountain...and keep your eyes out," said Sylvanas, as the two priest' brothers set up and started to cast the spell. The soft humming was soon heard by Sylvanas in the other three districts soon as well - meaning their plan was underway.

The silence and the wind blowing made them however on edge, they were sitting in a dangerous zone, where the people around them could turn at any minute and they would be right in the middle of it; they were spread-out and the fact, that _this_ Mal'Ganis hadn't shown its face yet.

"I've been waiting for you, young prince..." echoed a voice, through the district. Putting them on alert, with weapons drawn out.

"I...am Mal'Ganis," spoke the voice, materializing nearby - a daemon: a vampiric humanoid creature, with black wings and large claws, horns and hooves included.

'Bloody daemons!' cursed Sylvanas, not realizing the situation sooner. Keeping an arrow aimed at the dreadlord' head.

"As you can see, your people...are now mine! I will now turn this city household by household...until the flame of life has been snuffed out...Forever!" taunted Mal'Ganis as he slowly walked forward, claws raking against the wood and stone of the buildings.

"I won't allow it Mal'Ganis!" replied Arthas, taking up the dreadlord' challenge and stepping forward with Light' Vengeance drawn.

"So be it...human!" laughed Mal'Ganis, as a horde of undead appeared behind him.

'How did?!' thought Sylvanas a bit sweating, as the dreadlord had just summoned a horde of undead from nothing.

"Tear this city apart!" roared Mal'Ganis, as the undead charged forward.

"Guard them. Nothing must interupt the spell," said Arthas, meeting Mal'Ganis' forces head-on, fighting with a vigor equal against the undead' might, they knew what was at stake, Arthas more than others as he slaughtered the undead in his path and charging straight at Mal'Ganis. "You are past redemption!"

"You make me laugh human..." taunted Mal'Ganis, blocking Arthas' blows with his claws and striking back. "...mortal..."

"Yeah?! Well this one..**bites**..**back**!" replied Arthas, blasting him with holy light.

"Grahh...so be it..." said Mal'Ganis in anger of getting injured, but soon disappearing in a hail of bats, his laughter echoing in the wind.

"Sylvanas?" checked Arthas behind him - the undead were dealt with; some casualties, yet they would hold.

"Yeah?" she asked, a few wounds and blood on her clothes from the battle.

"Stay here! Guard this place and the entrance! If all else fails, this might be our only fall-back point!" said Arthas.

"Okay..." nodded Sylvanas.

"I'm going after Mal'Ganis. I saw him heading towards Market Row!" he added, heading there.

"Be careful!" she said, as he headed there alone.

Arriving at Market Row, Arthas immediately saw it aflame - the undead had counter-attacked in force and were killing the citizens.

"M'Lord!" yelled Falric, fighting off a group of ghouls. "We need to retreat!"

"No! We can still save this district!" replied Arthas, attacking the undead with his maul. Yet even he could see that they were too much.

"Arthas! The mages are dead! We can't save it!" said Falric, pointing at the two high elven bodies.

"Men..." spoke Arthas, as he took a final look at the situation. "Pull back! Grab the dead and wounded, retreat back to King's Square!"

"Yes, M'Lord! Move it men!" ordered Falric, holding back the undead with the remaining troops as the rest grabbed the dead and wounded, and made a run for King's Square.

"Steady men! Light give you strength!" spoke Arthas, invoking a blessing on his troops, that gave them renewed strength. As they slowly made a retreat back to King's Square.

"Close the gate!" yelled Falric as a guard shut down the gate and doomed Market Row to the Scourge. "Damnit!"

"What happened?" asked Sylvanas, making their way to them.

"Undead! They overran us, killed the mages! We couldn't hold them back, so Prince Arthas ordered us to retreat," said Falric, who felt sick at the feeling of abandoning the citizens to their death.

"You did the right thing. You saved your men," replied Sylvanas, trying to ease Arthas' worry.

"I failed them..." said Arthas, bitter at the situation.

"You saved your men! With it, you can save the rest of Stratholme!" replied Sylvanas, as their actions had drawn the citizens outside. "Stay indoors! It's not safe outside!"

"What i-"

"Please! It isn't safe for you to be outside! The situation is under control! Stay indoors, lock your doors and stay calm!" spoke Arthas to the gathered citizens, as he urged his men to return them to their houses - some of the citizens looking a bit pale. Luckily they didn't see the smoke and flames from Market Row; yet heard the screams which made them a bit worried. "We need to hurry!"

"You need to focus! If this districts falls, then your other men will be cut off!" replied Sylvanas.

"She's right, M'Lord!" added Falric.

"Alright!" sighed Arthas, as he calmed himself enough to lead his men. "Send a scout to inform Marwyn and Luc - tell them to keep the citizens inside and their gates closed off. If we fail...then atleast they have a chance to succeed and hopefully escape."

"Yes, M'Lord!" replied Falric, goinging to carry-out his orders.

"The rest of you! Ready up near Market Row' gate, we'll need to hold them back there!" spoke Arthas, then slumped onto a pillar tired out. "What a mess..."

"It could be worse..." spoke Sylvanas, walking up to him.

"How?" he asked.

"You...could be killing these people yourself at this moment. Instead your trying to save them," she said.

"Yeah..." muttered Arthas, as he shook of the haze of what he wanted to do, just a few hours ago. "Okay...it could be worse."

"M'Lord!" yelled Falric, as the gate shuttered under the attack of two abominations.

"Not these again!" said Arthas, as he ran to them with Sylvanas.

"I got this!" replied Sylvanas, shooting two ice arrows each at the abominations - repeating her tactic from Brill, as the ice arrows killed their targets through the head.

Yet behind them a horde of ghouls, undead and grotesque spider-creatures awaited them. Filled by the ranks of several zombified citizens.

"Light help us..." muttered Falric, showing fear at the sight.

"Stand high men!" commanded Arthas, stepping infront of the group. "You are soldiers of Lordaeron! Don't let these Light-damned creatures scare you! For Lordaeron!"

"For Lordaeron!" cheered the men in approval, their fighting-spirit lifted.

"How pathetic..." laughed Mal'Ganis, as he appeared on the other side of the gate and smashed it apart. "...kill them all!"

"FOR KING TERENAS!" yelled Arthas, striking his holy-charged maul into the ground and blasting apart the undead rank, as they soon impacted them.

Arthas fought back hard, smashing apart the undead as they neared him. Falric was holding back the tide from the side - stabbing, slashing and bashing away any undead. Above him, on the rafters Sylvanas was raining arrows on the undead from above; dealing with spider-creatures as they seemed more dangerous than the usual undead.

"Mal'Ganis!" roared Arthas, charging at the dreadlord, his weapon charged with holy magic.

"Bringing it...human..." taunted Mal'Ganis, ready for battle...if he didn't underestimate Arthas, who bashed him back hard.

"Whose laughing now?" taunted back Arthas, his weapon swinging at him again.

"Don't think it will be that easy!" replied Mal'Ganis, blocking the blows and counter-attacking in force. "You are weak..."

"I don't think so..." said Arthas, as he held his ground against the stronger daemon.

"Your city has fallen..." replied Mal'Ganis, sending Arthas skitting a few feet.

"I don't think so either..." replied Arthas, a slight smile on his lips.

Farther away the mages had completed the spell and unleashed it - a light and sounding shimmer enveloping the remaining three districts in a powerful dispell and purging all dark magic from Stratholme.

"What?!" roared Mal'Ganis, as he saw the undead citizen crumble to the ground dead and Nerzhul' influence fade from the area. Arthas seizing the chance and counter-attackin, sending the the dreadlord reeling.

"We're going to finish this Mal'Ganis! Just you and me!" spoke Arthas, readying Light' Vengeace.

"Your more resourceful than I imaginrd, no matter. Your journey has just begun, young prince. Gather your forces, and meet me in the arctic land of Northrend. It is there we shall settle the score between us. It is there that your true destiny will unfold," replied Mal'Ganis as he teleported away from the city, having caused enough damage on his part.

"I'll hunt you to the ends of the earth if I have to! Do you hear me? To the ends of the earth!" yelled back Arthas at the wind, before turning around to his men. The undead had been killed, without the zombie citizens their numbers were halved and dealt with easily.

"So...it isn't over, is it?" said Sylvanas, as he walked upto him.

"No it isn't. Stratholme is safe...but the danger remains, you heard the dreadlord...he fled to Northrend. I can't let him live and plan another invasion of my homeland...because the next time could be much worse..." replied Arthas. "...so please don't try to stop me...I'll be leaving immediately."

"I wasn't going to stop you, I wanted to ask if I could come along?" asked Sylvanas, suprising Arthas.

"You're serious?!" asked a shocked Arthas.

"Well you are, and what I have seen this plague **IS** dangerous. This 'dreadlord' even more - he could very well threaten Quel'Thalas as well, and as such I want him eliminated as well," spoke Sylvanas. "And as such, it seems you might need somebody level-minded with you, from what I had seen here."

**XXX**

Uther was nervous as he made his way back to Stratholme; almost six hours later. He had refused to carry out Prince Arthas' mad order, to out-right slaughter a city was against everything that being a paladin meant; no matter the situation, even if he had been king. Uther prayed that Arthas hadn't gone insane and gone out on his order...yet the trail of burdened citizens coming from the city, made him suspect the worse.

However, when Uther arrived on the outskirts he saw the opposite - people were being lead out of the city, while some were singled out and send into a separate camp, where several mages and priests attended to them.

"What's going on here? Who is in charge here?" asked Uther, dismounting from his horse.

"I am Lord Uther, Captain Luc Valonforth from Heartglen," spoke up a nearby captain.

"Captain...what happened here?" asked Uther.

"It a long story..." replied Valonforth, as he explained what happened: the plague, Arthas, the Elven Ranger, their new plan and of Northrend. "...as such, Prince Arthas had left for Northrend to stop this madman; the young elf accompanying him. As for the rest, he had ordered us to evacuate Stratholme, send the uninfected citizens away and...try to help those who had eaten the plagued grain."

"Light-praised..." sighed Uther at the fortune: Stratholme was by far intact, the plagued were getting helped and this hadn't turned into a bloodbath, that he feared. He'd need to thanks this elf later, yet another thing worried him: _Northrend_. It was a Light-forsaken wasteland, and by far it sounded like a trap as well for the young prince. "...I'll send for some aid to here, and to help the citizens locate to the other villages and towns."

"We'd be relieved Lord Uther," replied Valonforth as went back to help the citizens.

Uther knew that Arthas had likely reached the harbour by now and already set sail for Northrend with Lordaeron' fleet. Chasing after him would be a bad idea as well, as he was needed here. Mounting his horse Uther set forth towards Capital City, where he would request aid for Stratholme' citizens and to ask King Terenas to recall his son...by far he could be the only one who Arthas might listen to. So until then, Uther prayed that Arthas wouldn't do anything rash in Northrend.

**XXX**

**A/N: Another done...(If any of you feel Sylvanas is a bit OOC[out-of-character], then let me know and I'll try to explain her actions)**

**Please review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 5: Northrend I_

**XXX**

_One month later_

Sylvanas pulled her hood closer, as the wind flapped it around. She could feel the cold air assault her face and cheeks, it was getting colder with each day - Northrend was getting closer. Sylvanas had gotten some extra leather and fur pattings for herself before leaving, as the ice-cold winter there could leave your fingers numb and in pain easily.

Yet only rumours of Northrend existed: a cold wasteland isn't visitor friendly; myths of ice trolls, dark magicks and ancient spider kingdoms was most, what was known about it. Herself hoping that they could deal with the daemon and leave, before they stirred up any ancient creatures there.

They had spend nearly a month at sea and Sylvanas had gotten to know the few people around Arthas too. Despite being a _prince_, Sylvanas had found out that by far he had almost no friends: Jaina was an exception but she had left him at Stratholme; Falric was the only 'close-friend' he had, yet that was also linked to him being a prince; Marwyn was merely tagging along, friend of a friend. So in an akward sense, Sylvanas was by far the only 'real' friend who wasn't tied to his prince role. A funny idea to one, who protected a magical-kingdom miles away from him.

"Strange no?" asked a high elf priestess, coming next to her.

"Excuse me?" questioned Sylvanas, as she broke from her pondering.

"Our journey - from Quel'Thalas to Lordaeron to...Northrend," said the elf. "The Light is a strange guide, no?"

"I guess so..." replied Sylvanas, eyeing the young priestess. She was dressed in the regular robes, with the added warmer clothing along with a staff...yet she carried a blade as well. "...you aren't the usual priest I see..."

"Oh...no I ain't..." she replied, pulling the small blade from her hip. "I am practical - I trust in the Light, yet have a weapon incase of trouble. So far the Light is still with me and thus I have followed my path."

"What's your name?" asked Sylvanas.

"Pyragon Lightseeker," she replied.

"Well...by your way, I think you strife to be a paladin," said Sylvanas.

"You...you think so?" asked Pyragon, a little shy. "...cause it's hard to find a teacher...and I'm still studying the Light...although I do wish to become one...someday...my dream...yet...high elf paladins are rare..."

"Not rare...hard to find..." humoured Sylvanas, they were almost non-existent in Quel'Thalas, only one or two from the Second War.

"I guess so...I...thank you for coming with us. Having you, Lady Sylvanas with us, eases my mind of worry," spoke Pyragon, before she bowed and left.

'Ease?' humped Sylvanas at the statement, her family' legacy was famous...yet in the end it all came to the individual itself. Windrunner or not, she wouldn't get careless just because of her bloodline. Daemons were known to be tricky and dangerous foes, and killing one wouldn't be easy...even one of Mal'Ganis' level.

As the sun set over the horizon, she decided to head inside as well - it was many times colder at night, so she was staying below deck. Setting herself on a nearby hammick among the numerous humans and elves as sleep soon took her.

**XXX**

"Hard to right...faster...ice ahead!" came the voice of Captain Valos of the _King's Might_, awaking Sylvanas from her slumber and the sudden ship jerking right, sending her off the hammick. "...left...fasten sails..."

"What's going on?!" asked Sylvanas, getting jerked left and right.

"We're dodging some ice! Brace yourself!" yelled Arthas, warning everybody.

"Is it Mal'Ganis?!" asked Sylvanas, as he followed Arthas.

"I don't know...yet these are some dangerous waves!" replied Arthas, holding on.

"Do you th-UH!" asked Sylvanas, before she gotten between the wooden hull and Arthas by a nasty crash.

"Land, ho!"

"Oh...hmm...sorry about that..." said Arthas, half-red in the face as he got off Sylvanas, then started to akwardly head topside. "...land...here..lets go..."

"Uhmm...yes of course..." she replied, heading up as well while hiding a slight blush under her hood. Luckily the soon icy-air covered her redness - _Northrend_.

""This is a light-forsaken land, isn't it? You can barely even see the sun! This howling wind cuts to the bone and you're not even shaking. M'Lord, are you all right?" spoke Falric, from his monologue.

"Captain, are all of my forces ccounted for?" asked Arthas, ignoring the frosty cold.

"Nearly. There were only a few ships that were lost at sea," replied Falric.

"Very well. Our first priority is to set up a base camp with proper defenses. There's no telling what's waiting for us out there in the shadows," said Arthas, as he lead on with his group.

"Bloody cold!" muttered Sylvanas, as they trecked on, it was snowing with visibility almost zero.

"Keep it together! Don't get lost in the storm!" replied Falric, pushing on from behind.

"Keep pushing! Ridge ahead!" urged on Arthas, staying in the middle, as he saw a nearby ridge, which could get them out of the storm.

They soon arrived there, which was less windy...yet also felt...watched...a hammer soon striking a nearby footman and...gun-fire heard.

"We're under attack! Take cover!" yelled Arthas, taking cover behind some rocks with the rest taking cover as well...yet the firing soon stopped, as it had just begun.

"Bloody hell, your not undead! Your alive...?" asked a stouty fellow, appearing from nearby - a dwarf.

"Muradin? Muradin Bronzebread is that you?" asked Arthas suprised to find an old friend and mentor here.

"Damn boy. I never imagined you'd come to our rescue!" chuckled the dwarf, as several dwarves carrying rifles appeared as well.

"Rescue? Muradin, I didn't even know you were here," replied Arthas akwardly.

"Just the same, lad. I could use your help. My mates and I were attacked, and we got separated. I'd appreciate any backup you could give me," asked Muradin from his old pupil.

"Of course I'll help, Muradin. Lets move!" replied Arthas, as he urged Muradin to lead them on.

Meanwhile at back, Sylvanas was confused and intriqued on the fact of finding dwarves here and for what reason - Muradin himself spotting the out-of-place elf at the back.

"I don't think we have met young lass. What's yer name?" asked Muradin, from the Elven Ranger.

"Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of Silvermoon," replied Sylvanas to Muradin' greeting.

"And what might a young elf, like yourself be after here?" chuckled Muradin.

"I'd be asking what might a dwarf be after in this frozen wasteland as well," replied Sylvanas, under her hood

"Ohoh...fair enough. I'll explain soon, right now I just want to save my mates," said Muradin, as they picked up the pace.

"How dangerous is it here?" asked Sylvanas.

"Rumours to rumours, besides a few trolls and exotic creatures, we've been fighting these bloody undead for weeks," replied Muradin. "An I'd say, that I rather fight some troll than these undead. Merciless, everywhere and they seem very organized, despite being brain-dead."

"That's not good," added Sylvanas, as they soon passed through the ridge and back into the open. Less snow atleast, for the moment - at their fast pace they soon spotted an encampement with a large group of dwarves there, fighting against the undead.

"That's them! And they're still under attack from the undead!" said Muradin, charging in.

"Let's move, men! Those dwarves need help!" urged on Arthas, as he led his men to help the dwarves.

"So much for staying together," muttered Sylvanas, raining arrows from above - aiming at the gargoyles and crypt fiends. A lot of them surrounded the dwarves, yet they could be dealt with now, thanks to the support from Arthas and his men.

She hadn't seen dwarves fight-in-person, yet the sight of dwarven warriors, riflemen and Muradin himself smashing apart the undead gave her though - if the dwarves were having trouble here, then what could they expect.

"All right, Muradin. What were you doing up here, anyway?" asked Arthas, as the last undead was dealt with - his own forces having taken moderate casualties.

"Well, lad, there's an ancient way that lies somewhere in this glacier wasteland. Supposedly, it leads you to a hidden vault where a runeblade named Frostmourne is held," spoke Muradin, Sylvanas keeping her ears on the conversation. "We came here to recover Frostmourne, but the closer we came to finding the way, the more undead we encountered."

"All this? Just for a blade?" asked Sylvanas, suprised at the dwarves' reason for being here.

"A runeblade!" spoke Muradin. "And this isn't some simple blade. This is rumoured to be the most powerful runeblade ever made. Possibly created by our ancestors."

"Or something older," added Sylvanas.

"Could be, yet we decided to take the risk anyway," said Muradin.

"Prince Arthas..." came Marwyn' voice, arriving at their location with a couple of soldiers. "...we haven't found any trace of Mal'Ganis."

"No matter. He can't hide from me forever. Captain, I want you to establish this site as our primary base," replied Arthas, indicating at the half-destroyed dwarf encampement.

"Yes, M'lord!" nodded Marwyn, as he started to head back towards the ships to relay the orders.

"It'll take a couple of hours, before we can move on," added Arthas.

"Well then, if you have some time I wanna show you something," said Muradin.

"Show what?" asked Arthas.

"It's a small cave nearby, an hour treck away. No worries, it is a secured way...yet inside it...well you'll just have to see for yerself," spoke Muradin. "We can handle it from now. The last attack caught us off-guard, yet now...and with your aid, we can hold this place now."

"I suppose so..." said Arthas, Sylvanas nodding in approval. "Is it...bad?"

"You'll have to see it...to believe it, old friend," replied Muradin.

**XXX**

Muradin had been leading Arthas and Sylvanas through the snow for an hour now; Arthas having left Falric in charge while he was gone. Despite it being a safe route, it wasn't by any means an easy one - trecking through the snow took twice the amount of physical exertion than usual.

"How much farther?" asked Sylvanas, keeping her arms close to her body for warmth.

"It should be around here somewhere," said Muradin. "A cave..."

"Like that?" asked Arthas, pointing at one, that was a bit snowed in.

"Yup. Come on!" urged on Muradin, as they got out of the snow. He soon grabbed and lit a torch to illuminate their way. "Look!"

"Wow..." said both Arthas and Sylvanas, dusting off the snow. Then they saw several glyphs and decorative pictures adjorning the cave: of creatures, spider-like and of mangled creatures and they seemed to be fighting...with the spider-creatures in mangled positions in later pictures.

"What do they mean?" asked Arthas, amazed and intrigued by the images.

"If I had to guess, these seem to be nerubian...the spider-creatures of these lands...living and once rulers of this land. They seem to detail a war, against these _mangled_ creatures - and they seemed to have been losing this one. With their foes...raising the nerubians into their ranks..." spoke Muradin. "And...these markings seem only a few years old."

"Oh...well that's encouraging," said Sylvanas annoyed. "We're up against a foe, who wants to 'mangle' us. No bet that those 'mangled' are undead and we're badly prepared for this kind of attack."

"Aye, a chillin' factor. Isn't it?" said Muradin, to which they silently nodded. "Aight, lets head back now."

Sylvanas was prepared to leave with them...if not for a pair of hairy hands dragging her into a nearby tunnel, behind a rock. Depositing her in a small lit tunnel...and Sylvanas being soon face-to-face with one of those spider-creatures

"Stay back!" roared Sylvanas, drawing her daggers and getting into an attack position, ready for it to attack.

"Wait! I mean no harm," spoke the creature, hands up in surrender.

"You can speak?! Aren't you one of the undead?!" asked Sylvanas suprised, yet keeping her blades up.

"No! I am a nerubian. Forgive me...we don't have much time...I come with a gift..." spoke the nerubian, it pulling a spiked and hair-covered arrow-like object from under its carapace.

"An arrow?" asked Sylvanas, as the nerubian quickly handed her the arrow-thing.

"We share a common foe...I had a vision of you...no matter. A deadly weapon this...use it against the one, you hunt..." added the nerubian seer, before retreating away into a tunnel and Sylvanas was left to ponder its words...and 'gift'.

"Sylvanas?!"

"Lass?"

"Here!" yelled Sylvanas, pocketing the nerubian-arrow and climbing back upto Arthas and Muradin. "Sorry. Hole. Fell through it."

"You alright?" asked Arthas worried.

"I'm fine," replied Sylvanas, faking a smile. "Lets head back."

**XXX**

**A/N: Arthas and Sylvanas in Northrend; a little spark? Muradin met and a nerubian 'gift'. What next?**

**Please review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 6: Northrend II_

**XXX**

The treck back to their camp was as slow as coming from it. The snow was as difficult to go through as before, even harder. Yet at the while, in the back Sylvanas was secretly examining the nerubian-arrow under her cloak - it had numerous hairs on it, like a spider' leg; it was light-weight, despite it obvious size which was twice as large as a regular arrow; also its tip was covered in a weird venom/poison mixture, that she dared not touch. She was still torn, if she should tell the others or keep it a secret; but for now, she'd hold onto the arrow, incase Mal'Ganis decided to show up.

"Captain, why are the guards not at their posts?" asked Arthas, arriving back from Falric, as he saw that his troops were packing-up numerous stuff.

"Well, M'Lord, your father had our troops recalled at Lord Uther's request," explained Falric.

"Uther had my troops recalled? Damn it! If my warriors abandon me, I'll never defeat Mal'Ganis," cursed Arthas, putting some distance between him and the camp - until he was farther out, so they wouldn't hear him. "The ships must be burned before the men reach the shore."

"Isn't that a bit much, lad?" asked Muradin, understanding but also suprised at the extreme retaliation.

"Burned down to their frames!" roared Arthas, yet kept his voice low. "No one goes home until our job here is done!"

"Not to bust a hole...yet...how the heck would **WE** get home?" asked Sylvanas, annoyed at his rash behaviour.

"Well...I..." mumbled Arthas, before his words got stuck and his plan ripped apart.

"Yeah, troops leaving is bad. Yet your idea of keeping them here is even worse!" said Sylvanas. "Burn your own ships? Your **own** ships! How would you get home, if you succeed here, huh? You'll end up freezing here to death!"

"She got you there, lad," added Muradin, realizing the full-extent of Arthas' plan.

"Well...what other choice do I have?!" asked Arthas, a bit loudly and angrier.

"We have some mages, they're specialized in various magic: pyromancy, transmutation, illusion; you can go talk to them and ask for their aid," replied Sylvanas. "I bet they know a few spells or tricks, that can aid you. Without, having to blow up your own damn fleet."

"...fine..." sighed Arthas after thinking it out, heading back to camp to speak with some of the high elf mages.

"I don't like this, one bit," said Muradin, once Arthas was out of ear-shot.

"Would the alternative be better?" asked Sylvanas. "I don't suppose you dwarves have a ship nearby?"

"No. Ours got wrecked as soon as we landed," replied Muradin, sighing. "This is bad."

"I agree, Arthas is taking this vengeance to personally," added Sylvanas. "And I fear, what he might to in his state of mind."

"Well let us hope, that you can keep him in check until we can get the heck out of here," said Muradin, suprising the young elf.

"Me?" asked Sylvanas, suprised. "I barely know him."

"Aye! Yet your words seem to strike a sense of reason in his head," replied Muradin. "One, even I can't do here."

"Just common sense," said Sylvanas.

"Maybe," added the dwarf, when he saw Arthas return.

"...Alright...done...Muradin...lets go..." sighed Arthas.

"I do hope you aren't planning anything rash," said Muradin.

"No..." sighed Arthas. "Magical explosive shells...farther away, yet appearance of the real thing. Some of the elves are already enchanting some mortar shells."

"Good idea," said Muradin.

"Alright...lets get this over with..." sighed Arthas, as two mortar crew appeared and were prepared to go.

"I'll stay here. Incase of any undead attacks and don't worry about the mages, I'll tell them to keep 'this' a secret," said Sylvanas, as Arthas and Muradin soon started to head towards the ships from around.

**XXX**

Even though the ships were far of the coast and their sight blocked by the trees, she could clearly see the magical explosions happening where the ships were. The men opting to go through the woods instead of facing the undead on the way.

Each explosion hastening their speed; until they arrived at the coast, after several grueling hours of going through the woods to avoid the undead and saw Arthas with Muradin standing at the coast, along with a trio of creatures a bit farther away.

"Prince Arthas?" spoke up Falric, suprised to see the prince here.

"Quickly, my warriors! These murderous creatures have burned down our ships and robbed you of your way home! Slay them all in the name of Lordaeron!" said Arthas, pointing at the creatures away from him.

"Kill them all!" roared a soldier in anger, as they charged at the creatures. Sylvanas staying behind, as she knew what was really happening.

"Our ships are ruined. What will we do now?" asked Marwyn, as the creatures soon layed dead on the beach.

"Listen to me, all of you! There is no way home for any of us, save through victory! In this land we will stand or fall together. Now, return to the base and man your posts," spoke Arthas, trying to remain calm. The men saddened, yet they followed and started to treck back to their camp.

'Lies to lies, yet this is too much,' thought Sylvanas, as she saw the hopeless faces on some of the humans. Even she felt a bit off, knowing her part in this.

"Don't, lass..." said Muradin, grabing her arm, when she wanted to confront Arthas. "...not today..."

"Fine..." replied Sylvanas, as her arm was released and she went back to camp as well, not uttering a single word.

That night, Sylvanas couldn't get much sleep as the bitter truth kept her up. The skies of Northrend was a sight in its own right - unseen beauty, yet one that harbored a dark force, the _Scourge_. She tried not to think about the scale or vastness of them, nor of the nerubians who fell; just that the same fate wouldn't befall on her beloved home.

Muradin himself was sharpening his axe in his tent - he didn't like how things had turned out here. From a simple treasure hunt to a frozen nightmare: undead, cursed lands and his old pupil. Arthas was a changed man from years ago, when he had trained him. He was changed that was certain - once he could barely wield a sword properly, now he was leading expeditions and wielding his maul like a veteran miner. Yet for the wrong reasons in his mind: chasing a mad-man was one thing, but Arthas was getting obsessed with chasing this _Mal'Ganis_.

"Bloody wasteland!" cursed Muradin, stopping his sharpening and going over to his stuff. Finding his good 'ol flask of ale and pulling off the cork on it. The only good thing about this place, was that it kept ale cold always.

Nearby, ontop of a watchtower sat Captain Falric of Arthas' Forces on watch duty, ignorant of a certain dwarf drinking. He was more worried about what was to come - no ships, no reinforcements and barely any hope left. Arthas' agenda was getting more desperate and more suicidal as the days passed. Falric was a certain kind of man: loyal to the death, no matter the odds. It what made him a good captain to his prince and his men. Yet by far all the horrors he had seen and cold he was feeling, Falric had a doubt if Arthas might have been pushed to the edge of his sanity.

In a tent, in the middle of the camp, sat one such prince, Arthas - examining a map piece in the candle-light; he couldn't sleep either. It was something that the dwarves had managed to draw up, while they were here. It wasn't much and barely covered their surrounding area, yet it was an alternative to going in blind. A few hours treck ahead was a small keep of an unknown type, a likely place to go searching for Mal'Ganis. Was that a name that haunted him, a daemon, that drove him mad at the mere mention of his name. A bloody coward, who fled to this wasteland instead of fighting him face-on.

"Ahh...damnit..." sighed Arthas, as he slumped down onto a nearby chair, tired out both physically and mentally. Lying to his men, arguing with an old friend and nearly going over-board with his anger, this trip was getting more hard on him by the hours and he was even doubting himself.

"_...passion to turn into bloodlust...vile as the orcs..._" echoed Uther' words in his head, a constant reminder yet one proverb that kept haunting him still. Was his drive for justice turning into vengeance, bloodlust or something worse?

'Damnit Uther,' cursed Arthas, as he stood and went back to planning, trying to forget those words. Passion, bloodlust or not, he needed a clear head to give orders and fight. He would deal with aftermaths later, right now people, _**his**_ people, needed him to be strong.

**XXX**

**A/N: Developing nicely, ya?**

**Please review.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 7: Northrend III_

**XXX**

Early the next morning their expedition made their way north to the nearby keep, that had been scouted by the dwarves when they had first arrived here. During much of the way there neither Muradin nor Sylvanas was asking much questions about yesterday; Sylvanas mostly due to the fact, that she believed her actions had caused enough problems and Muradin was just waiting for the right moment ask, when Arthas would be more level-headed and calm.

As they set up around the keep, Sylvanas heard most of the dwarves speaking up, about finding Frostmourne and how close it might be, as their original trail let them here, when they were repulsed in force back then. The sudden undead attack and weird wipes surrounding the place made even Muradin believe, that Frostmourne was located in a nearby cave they had barely enough time to scout. Yet that would be discussed later...

"You lied to your men and betrayed the mercenaries who fought for you. What's happening to you, Arthas? Is vengeance all that's important to you?" asked Muradin, finally demanding answers from Arthas, as the three of them sat around a nearby fire.

"Spare me, Muradin. You weren't there to see what Mal'Ganis did to my homeland," countered Arthas, feeling as though Muradin was accusing him.

"I was..." replied Sylvanas. "...you care for your people, yet you have been more obsessed than caring this journey."

"How? How can you say that?" asked Arthas, feeling betrayed.

"Look around you - were in a Light-forsaken wasteland, chasing a daemon, we have no idea where he is and your barely keeping yourself together," replied Sylvanas honestly, looking sorry for the prince. "I've been along as an aid these months and I can see your breaking. You've been slowly drifting apart, what happened since Andorhal?"

"...I'm not sure..." sighed Arthas, as he sat back down exhausted. "...I see my people die. I can't bare to stand it! It...it's too much..."

"Then learn," replied Sylvanas. "You gotta understand something - being a King will be even harder, people die...there isn't much you can do to stop it. A good King...can't save everyone...but I'll swear my name _Windrunner_, that he'll try to save as much as possible!"

"It's true Arthas," added Muradin, patting Arthas on the back. "You got a good heart lad. Yet don't let it always, to the leading."

"I'll try..." nodded Arthas, at the sober truth handed to him.

"The Dark Lord said you would come!" echoed the voice of Mal'Ganis through their base. "This is where you journey ends...boy. Trapped and freezing at the roof of the world, with only death to sing the tale of your doom!"

With the final word, Mal'Ganis himself appeared at the edge of their base - along with hundreds of undead behind him, all eager to slaughter Lordaeron' finest.

"This looks bad. We're completely surrounded," said Muradin, as he surveyed the situation. They were surrounded on every side 3-to-1, with their only escape the way they came and even then they couldn't all escape.

"Any ideas?" asked Sylvanas, feeling up her arrows and the 'special' one as well.

"There's still one chance. Help me claim Frostmourne! If it's as powerful as you said, it might tilt the scales of our favor!" spoke Arthas, proposing one last idea.

"I have a bad feeling about this, lad. But I promised I'd see this through," replied Muradin, remembering the first time his dwarves tried to go looking inside the cave - but now it was do or death.

"Captain, I'll leave you to organize our defenses," ordered Arthas to Falric, as he led the men to hold back the undead tide. While Arthas took some men with him to find Frostmourne. "Lets move out."

Muradin led them ahead, away from their base, as the battle began there - flesh met steel and iron. Now they were running on borrowed time; if they didn't hurry then all would be lost. Their trail leading to a cave, its entrance covered in strange runes, while the sounds of war echoed even this far.

"This it..." said Muradin, as he let Arthas go first and him following behind, Sylvanas and the men behind them. "The runes...their read: .._.A soulless place_..."

"That isn't welcoming," replied Sylvanas, drawing her bow out and kept an eye out for any dangers.

"Aye! Keep an eye out!" added Muradin, holding his hammer and axe tightly.

This place was more creepy than the dwarf had described, as far as Sylvanas felt it. She could practically feel the pressure on her body, harder to breath and feel - this place was cursed, no doubt about it.

"Archers!" yelled a footman, as he barreled into Sylvanas and her former location full of arrows. Shot by a group of skeletal archers from ahead of them.

"Damn!" cursed Sylvanas, as her saviour had been rewarded by ten arrows into his body, dead. Sylvanas currently stuck under the pile of flesh and steel. Her having trouble getting him off her, as she was wedged between two rocks and had no room to move. Although she could hear battling nearby.

"Need help?" asked Arthas, as he returned to her position.

"Skeletons?"

"Dead, and so was a dwarf as well," said Arthas, lifting the dead soldier off her and helping her back up.

"Thank you," replied Sylvanas.

"Damn! We lost a good friend!" muttered Muradin, as he checked on his fellow dwarf.

"We need to keep moving," said Arthas, walking ahead further into the cave.

Journeying ahead, they had to dealt with more undead creatures, losing three more soldiers on the way. Sylvanas not letting them get a jump on her again, as she had taken down two undead creatures herself. These undead were tougher and different than the ones they had fought against, yet they fell like the rest.

Luckily it wasn't much farther as they saw an opening ahead and it was guarded as well by a spectral, floating, armored being...a revenant.

"Turn back, mortals. Death and darkness are all that await you in this forsaken vault," spoke the being in an deep tone.

"I doubt there is anything down here more terrifying than what we've faced already," replied Arthas, dismissing the Guardian' warning.

"Believe what you will, boy. You shall not pass," it replied, drawing its shield and mace out - ready to fight them.

An ice blast followed, hitting their dwarven allies in the rear and killing them. A swing of its mace and a footmen was crushed under its force. Its shield blocking Sylvanas' three arrows in a second. It was a strong foe, as only Arthas could block its blows and even he had trouble withstanding his bone-crushing attacks.

"FOR KHAZ MODAN!" roared Muradin, as he grew in stature, his skin hardened to steel and turned a silver-white. Then he charged at the Guardian, axe and hammer smashing against its shield and gaining some ground.

"Come on!" urged Muradin, as he kept on the pressure and Arthas trying to attack from the side, yet he was pushed back by its mace. Any charging soldier, getting crushed by its mace, until only they three remained.

"Now lass!" roared Muradin, as he occupied its shield and Arthas its mace, leaving him open for an attack by Sylvanas.

"Band'or shorel'aran, Ban'dinoriel," uttered Sylvanas, as two arrows left her bow, hitting the weak-point of its armor and sending the Guardian reeling. Muradin following a hammer blow to its helmet and Arthas with a final blow to its chest-plate, sending it glattering back and coughing in pain.

"Turn away...before it's...too late," warned the Guardian, its life-force fading.

"Still trying to protect the sword, are you?" asked Arthas, weapon ready.

"No...trying to protect you...from it," replied the revenant, its voice echoing as a warning, as its spirit left the body and its armoring clanking onto cave-floor.

'Protect us? Why?' thought Sylvanas worringly, as she stepped over the empty armor on the cave, as she saw the prize in the vault.

"Behold, Muradin, our salvation, Frostmourne," spoke Arthas as he saw the pedestal and incased in the ice was the blade they seeked - Frostmourne.

'So this is it,' thought Sylvanas as well, eyes drawn to the blade.

"Hold lad, There is an inscription on the dais. It's a warning," spoke up Muradin, as he knelt before it and started to translate the inscription. "It says - _Whomsoever takes up this blade shall wield power eternal. Just as the blade rends flesh, so must power scar the spirit_ - oh, I should've known. The blade is cursed! Let's get the hell out of here!"

"I would gladly bear any curse to save my homeland," replied Arthas, stepping closer and ignoring the warning.

"Leave it be, Arthas. Forget this business and lead your men home," urged on Muradin, trying to speak reason into his head.

"Damn the men! Nothing shall prevent me from having my revenge, old friend. Not even you," cursed Arthas, his eyes cold and remorseless. Muradin and Sylvanas shocked at the revealation.

"Now, I call out to the spirits of this place. I will give anything or pay any price, if only you will help me save my people," chanted Arthas, indifferent of his friends' pleas. Then the ice started to crack around the sword and exploded, showering the cave in deadly ice-spikes.

Sylvanas had reacted faster as when the ice cracked she had hit the ground hard, yet she had heard someone scream in pain - Muradin, who was bleeding farther away, pierced by the shards throughout his body. The howling pain in her leg confirmed her fears, that she had been injured as well; a dozen ice-shards...and all through it stood Arthas, unhurt and ignorant of what had happened.

The damned object standing a few feet away from him, begging to be picked up as Arthas threw his holy maul away like trash and started to walk towards it.

"Arthas! Stop!" yelled Sylvanas, as she tried to stop him, yet Arthas kept walking and not stopping.

"Damn...ignorant...stupid...foolish..." groaned Sylvanas, crawling on her knees and leg as she barely got up and hopped over to Arthas.

Clutching his hand, just as he was about to grasp that infernal thing and that face looking back at her, like she had murdered his people. Sylvanas merely reacted, her right hand smacking him hard against his face, a second time with her back-hand for good measure. Then she just held onto by his collar.

"Snap out of it!" yelled Sylvanas, as he shook him a bit, Arthas looking not angry but suprised. "Are you even listening?! Are you even thinking?! Your old friend is bleeding to death and you don't even care?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Arthas was pretty much speechless at the sudden outburst; nobody had ever spoken to him like that, not his father or Uther or Muradin. _Damned, what was wrong with him._

"Sylvanas?"

"Yeah. Wake up, Prince!" replied Sylvanas, snapping a few times to make sure he was still listening. "Do you even realize what you have being doing these days? Do you even care anymore?!"

'...what have I...' thought Arthas as he recalled everything that happened - battles, warnings, Muradin, ships, betrayal, death...Mal'Ganis.

_...your all alive...burned...vengeance...lie to your men...damn the men...my revenge...not even you..._

Arthas re-opened his eyes at the sight of the young elven staring at him, he knew why he was here: it wasn't justice, but cold-hearted revenge like Uther had warned him of.

"No...I didn't...and yes...I do care," replied Arthas, as the full force of the truth hit him; in a wasteland, unknown and he almost sacrificed his friends for petty vengeance. "Light be damned on me! What have I done?!"

"Focus, we need to get out of here," added Sylvanas, trying to keep Arthas going from mad to suicidal. "You can beat yourself up later."

"Damn. Muradin!" realized Arthas, as he went over to his old mentor. He was badly bleeding, yet he would live as Arthas started to heal his wounds.

'Incen...' cursed Sylvanas, getting left with her injured leg, but she understood Muradin was more injured and she could handle the pain.

Yet the chilling howl, that echoed through the cave warned otherwise - Frostmourne was glowing and both Sylvanas and Arthas felt a dark presence envelope the cave. Dark ice-spirits appeared from inside the blade and charged...at Sylvanas.

They were frightful; by appearance and by their howling scream, that left Sylvanas on her knees as they attacked. Each strike feeling like a deep blade-cut into her skin.

"NO!" yelled Arthas, as he tried to stop them yet was flung back by the spirits, as they resumed their assault and started to encircle her.

Sylvanas realized to her horror, of the pain inflicted on her leg and of the spirits on her body, that their worst part was to come - the cold air she breathed was becoming thinner, as she started to suffocate and lose consciousness; she was going to die here.

"Leave! Her! ALONE!" roared Arthas, as he ran at them, picking up his maul on the way and charged at the cursed blade. Gathering his might and flunging _Light' Vengeance_ at his unleashed object, his hammer shimmering with holy magic, not fueled by vengeance but of hope to save someone close to him.

His hammer flew and hit Frostmourne at its hilt...and shattered in a mighty flash of light and magic, as the shockwave knocked Arthas onto the ground as well.

Re-awakening, the ice-spirits were gone, the dark presence was gone and Sylvanas layed on the cavern floor unmoving.

"Sylvanas! Sylvanas, please wake up!" pleaded Arthas, as he held her body and gently tapped her cheek. A slight slap on his own cheek soothed his worries.

"...fool..." groaned Sylvanas, as she regained consciousness and opened her eyes, with no spirits around or Frostmourne for that matter. "The blade?"

"...destroyed..." replied Arthas, as he saw the vault filled with the shards of the cursed runeblade and of his hammer _Light' Vengeance_. He gathered the broken handle and a few intact pieces into his pouch, yet mostly he was unarmed now.

"We need...to get out of here," coughed Sylvanas, as she got up and still shaken from the ordeal.

"Muradin..." remembred Arthas, as he went over and hoisted the dwarf onto his shoulder and used his other hand to help Sylvanas walk. "We need to hurry...and escape this wasteland."

"Given up on your vengeance, I see?" said Sylvanas, as they hastily walked forward.

"Damned to that, this is feeling more like a trap set for us," replied Arthas, as they made with haste towards their camp. Falric immediately checking them on their return.

"Prince Arthas? Muradin? We can't hold out for much longer!" said Falric, urgent about their battle-state.

"Falric, what's the situation?" asked Arthas, as he handed Muradin over to some dwarves, who took him to a healer.

"The undead are hammering us hard, but..."

"What happened?" asked Arthas.

"...the undead, they just went crazy. One moment their coming at us in force and in-line, the next their attacking everybody, their own included," said Falric. "They're like wild animals, but there just too much...we can't hold them..."

"It doesn't matter! We need to retreat!" replied Arthas.

"But M'Lord, our ships they-"

"..are intact! I lied! And I regret and apologize for that my friend," interupted Arthas, suprising the captain.

"Do we have any mages left?" asked Sylvanas, as her leg got healed and bandaged up.

"I..um...yes we do!" replied Falric, getting his sense together. "We dared not risk them yet."

"Good. Gather them, and let them teleport you to the ships," said Sylvanas.

"We might have too many," added Falric, recounting their remaining troops and the number of mages left.

"Then we make a run for it!" replied Arthas. "Evacuate the wounded and injured. Now!"

"I...yes M'Lord!" said Falric, running to the centre of their basecamp and sounding their retreat and evacuation.

"We need to hurry," added Sylvanas, as she got patched up and back on her feet.

"I know," replied Arthas, as he went over to help with the retreat, as Sylvanas went over to hold back the mindless undead tide.

"Move it!" urged on Falric, as the wounded were gathered and teleported to the ships. "M'Lord you sho-"

"No! I won't leave, until everybody else!" replied Arthas to Falric, he made the mistake of bringing the men of Lordaeron to their death. He wasn't leaving until they were all safe.

"Very well," said Falric, as he helped more wounded to the mages.

Farther away, watching from a cliff was Mal'Ganis who was furious at the turn of events: Nerzhul' presence was gone, the Scrouge were a mindless horde now and were killing everybody, even their own. Nerzhul and his plan had backfired heavily and likely to cause a major setback for the Burning Legion; no matter, Mal'Ganis had his orders and one of them was to make sure Arthas didn't leave Northrend alive.

He soon launched himself from the cliff, gliding over the battlefield and into Arthas' base.

"Hello...boy..." taunted Mal'Ganis, landing only a few feet away from him.

"Mal'Ganis!" replied Arthas angrily, with his archenemy showing up at the worst time.

"Your demise...is here!" said Mal'Ganis, charging at Arthas, claws ready.

"M'Lord!" yelled Marwyn, throwing his shield and sword to Arthas, who managed to catch and block Mal'Ganis' first blow with the shield.

"Everybody flee! Flee to the ships and set sail for Lordaeron! This is my last order!" yelled Arthas, as he dueled Mal'Ganis. "Run!"

"You heard the Prince! Move it!" urged on Falric, as the remaining soldiers started to flee to the mages.

"How foolish! How...human..." insulted Mal'Ganis at show of sacrifice, as the rest of the humans fleed.

Arthas replied by smacking Mal'Ganis in the face with his carried shield. "How stupid of a dreadlord, to bet everything on me taking up some cursed blade!"

"You are nothing!" roared back Mal'Ganis, bashing away his shield and sending him reeling by a carrion swarm. "Your end...is now..."

"I don't think so," replied Sylvanas, as she shot the nerubian arrow at Mal'Ganis, hitting him straight in the neck. With her and Falric going over to help Arthas.

"I told you to flee!" said Arthas, as he was helped up by Falric.

"I don't follow your orders nor do I intend to leave you to die in this wasteland!" replied Sylvanas.

"I was with her!" added Falric as well. "The mages left us a portal, not to the ships but as close as they could get."

"Now move your ass!" urged Sylvanas, as they headed through the portal, as the undead fell on their base.

Mal'Ganis meanwhile had been choking on the poison/venom that was affecting him; too weakened to stop the fleeing mortals. The blasted arrow was of nerubian origin - how did a blasted elf get her hands on a nerubian artifact anyway?

"...for the Spider Kingdom!" Mal'Ganis heard spoken, as the ground rumbled and several nerubian warriors appeared to slaughter the mindless undead, answering Mal'Ganis' question.

Leading them was the same nerubian seer, who had given Sylvanas the tool of their vengeance and their gift was rewarded handsomely as the now, mindless undead were easy prey to the vengeful nerubians. Mal'Ganis being a more sweeter prize as the nerubians unleashed their fury upon the weak dreadlord and tore him apart.

"Aknul'Zah? What of the travellers?" asked a nearby warrior.

"...let them go...one day...they'll be back...and then...we can exact our vengeance...against the frozen jailor..." replied the seer, screeching in victory soon-after as this would only be their first victory to come against the Scourge.

**XXX**

Arthas, Falric and Sylvanas were deposited in the old dwarven' camp as the portal closed behind them. Yet the sound of the howling undead, urged them to run faster to the ships.

"Falric! Lead us!" said Arthas, as he scooped up Sylvanas, who was slower due to her sore leg, as they ran through the ridge that they came through the first time.

"Unde-" warned Sylvanas, until a boulder crushed the chasing undead, courtesy of a nerubian. "-never mind."

They arrived to see the ships setting sail, except for one which was anchored a bit off shore. Waving from the deck was Marwyn, yelling as well.

"There!" pointed Falric at a small row-boat.

"It'll do!" replied Arthas, chucking Sylvanas onto it, as he and Falric started to paddle with haste.

"Wagons!" yelled Falric, as he saw several meat wagons arrive on shore with a couple acolytes. Soon the meat wagons unleashing their payload at them.

"Faster!" urged Arthas, as they tried to get beyond the meat wagons' range, riding through the waves and freezing water splashing at them.

"Damned..." cursed Sylvanas, as she started to shoot at the meat wagons and acolytes operating them, managing to hit a few and disable one wagon. That was until one payload was about hit them.

"Abandon ship!" yelled Falric, as he jumped into the freezing water, Arthas and Sylvanas following them as their row-boat was destroyed.

"M'Lord!" came the voice of Marwyn, as a rope was thrown into the water - Falric and Arthas grasping onto it as they were pulled out, Sylvanas hanging onto Arthas through the ordeal. Lordaeron' cannons roaring in revenge, as they annihilated the wagons on shore.

"Get some warm clothing here!" ordered Marwyn, as Arthas, Falric and Sylvanas were pulled onboard and out of the freezing water.

"Why did you stay? I ordered you to flee," asked Arthas as they were brought a pair of blankets to cover them. "How can you even accept me as a Prince anymore?"

"M'Lord, I suggest you get warmed up, before you freeze to death," said Marwyn calmly and by his title, suprising Arthas.

"What?"

"Prince Arthas, we swore to follow you and we wouldn't have left with you anyway," added Falric.

"Why? After everything I put you through?"

"Prince Arthas, why do you think we came along? It wasn't for the view," chuckled Falric. "We understand, why you did it - to kill a madman, who threatened the very lives of our countrymen, families and you'd had chased him to the ends of the world for justice...personally as well."

"If you had asked, we would have stayed," added Marwyn. "We serve you M'Lord, not Uther..."

"...your army is more loyal than you give them credit for..." said Sylvanas, through the shakes, holding the fur blanket closer. "...and you weren't on a mad-chase, you rescued a group of dwarves and your old friend, a brother of the Dwarven King if I recall, that counts for something..."

"It does..." sighed Arthas.

"Thank you...all of you...I'll never forget this...Falric, Marwyn...Sylvanas," spoke Arthas, looking at each of them. "I can never repay for what I have done, but I'll try to honor you and the sacrifices that have been made for the rest of my life."

"You do that M'Lord...but for now...get below, before you freeze," said Marwyn, as he helped them down below.

'What a trip,' thought Sylvanas, shivering as she was helped down - seeing a spider-creature on a cliff, holding a severed head on a spear, Sylvanas grinning at the glimpse she saw. "...and as for that dreadlord...I believe he won't be coming back anymore..."

**XXX**

**A/N: Ah yeah...good!Arthas and Sylvanas, what will the future bring? More stories inbound. (Also who liked Sylvanas slapping Arthas? *me*)**

**Please review.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 8: Return I_

**XXX**

It was over, their expedition was going home, they had accomplished their assignment, more so...and Mal'Ganis was dead. Arthas could finally put his mind at ease, with the dreadlord dead and to everybody around him it was great to get as far away from the cold Northrend as possible.

Arthas felt...changed, after all he had been through in Northrend. When he came here he felt young, strong...brash and reckless; the past days nearly costing him - his life, his men and nearly his sanity. It felt like ages, since he had arrived to help Uther defend a town from a group of orcs, to battling undead in a dark wasteland. He wasn't the same man anymore nor would he want to be again, it was time to act like a true Prince not like a brash, headless kid.

"M'Lord?" asked Marwyn, tapping on his door.

"Yes?"

"Someone wants to see you in the mess hall, it's Muradin," replied Marwyn.

"Thank you, tell him I'll be right up."

"Of course," replied Marwyn, as he left.

Arthas at the moment putting on some regular white linen pants and a gray shirt, along with some leather boots; with the latter dip into the frozen water, his usual attire and armor was soaking wet and freezing cold, so he had to make due with what he had. Soon heading towards the mess hall, finding an old dwarf sitting near the window, in the empty mess hall and looking over patched up with cloth and bandages everywhere.

"Take a seat boy," said Muradin, eyeing the sea go by.

"Glad to see you back on your feet," replied Arthas, taking a seat opposite of him. "What did you want to talk about?"

"This..." said Muradin, giving him a nasty jab to chest. "...that's for trying to kill me..." Muradin then rolled out two mugs, full of dwarven ale from under his seat. "...and this is for saving me and my boys from that frozen-land..."

"It...wasn't much..." replied Arthas rubbing his chest, as he started drinking ale with his old mentor, albeit much less than Muradin, as dwarven ale was too strong for humans.

"It was...but there's also something else, you..." said Muradin, pointing at Arthas. "...I saw you out there boy, you've grown yet your still brash...and I didn't teach you to be brash..."

"Tutoring again?" asked Arthas, in a half-amused tone.

"Thank that elven-girl for that. She knocked some sense into that thick skull of yours," replied Muradin, drinking some more. "I'm suprised you listened."

"Well...I couldn't ignore her..." replied Arthas.

"...ahha...yet what I told ye, went in from one ear and out the other..." laughed Muradin. "...don't lie boy, you like her."

"...I...well..." staggered Arthas, at the sudden question, hiding his face.

"Ahaahaa!" laughed Muradin at the response. "You do have a thing for the elven lass!"

"I...am not sure," replied Arthas, seeming confused, Muradin slapping him hard on the arm for that. "Ow!"

"Boy...don't make the same mistake twice," replied Muradin, looking serious, despite having drinked almost his entire ale. "I saw you, after the mage lassie broke up with you - you were a bloody mess and it took you almost two weeks to get over it. Don't do it again or you'll regret it again..."

"But-"

"No buts! Go!" urged on Muradin, to Arthas.

"Alright Muradin," said Arthas, as he got up.

"Wait!"

"What?"

"You gonna finish that?" asked Muradin, pointing at his half-full mug.

"No. Go ahead, old friend," replied Arthas, as headed back to his cabin. Many thoughts going through his mind on the way, until he saw _her_ in his cabin, looking through the window. Dressed in a simple white robe, as her own leather attire had been in the frozen water as well. Then she looked at him suprised.

"I-"

"I-" interupted Sylvanas, putting them in an akward silence, as neither spoke up.

"No," said Arthas sternly then, as he shut the door behind him. He would get burned, hurt or maimed likely, yet damned be this time he wouldn't listen to his head on purpouse.

Sylvanas eyeing as Arthas walked over to her...and _kissed_ her, no warning or saying, just did. By far Sylvanas was suprised, but not angry or protesting - the endless fighting...cold...death and she longed for the warmth. She hated to admit it - but some part of her liked him. Nor was she ignorant of where this would lead, as her feet left the floorboard and she was carried to the bed. It would be an unforgetable time.

**XXX**

Arthas awoke with a gasp, as he had been dreaming, more like seeing a very horrible nightmare in fact - of wielding that shattered Frostmourne...slaughtering his own men, murdering his father, Uther...and Sylvanas, all killed by him. The same elf who was peacefully sleeping next to him, her golden hair hiding her calmed and peaceful face. She seemed so different from the iron-nerves and focused ranger, she was in Northrend. Now she looked so vunerable...beautiful...peaceful. He didn't care about the consequences of having layed with Sylvanas, she was beautiful after all - was it a crime to be amored with a beauty? Was it bad to love somebody from afar, from another kingdom even?

Arthas shook those thoughts out of his head, as he grabbed his trousers from the floor and put them on. Setting Sylvanas' robe folded onto the bed, as he eyed out the window - it was night-time, yet it didn't feel as cold, when they first came to Northrend.

Sylvanas stirred in the bed, yet continued to be asleep. Arthas was still counting how many times she had saved his life, too many times - he needed a change badly, looks like the Light had provided him one. He needed a lot to fix at home - Uther being one, whom he had called a traitor, for refusing to slaughter civilians, he needed to mend that and his father was likely worried sick.

Yet his pondering was interupted by a black crow, who flew inside his cabin...transforming into a familiar robed man, he had seen before.

"You..." whispered Arthas, realizing the figure being the Prophet, or unknowingly to him, _Medivh_. "Still comed to warn me?"

"No..." replied Medivh calmly, keeping his voice low as well, due to a sleeping elven nearby.

"What? Why?"

"Your more stronger than you appear... young prince..." he spoke in his cryptic tone, walking upto him. "...I guess fate isn't set in stone..."

"What do you mean?" asked Arthas confused.

"...it doesn't matter anymore," he replied, approaching the window. "...just remember this - _thou the flame has passed, you must be on your guard. For the shadow that threatens this world, may yet return one day_...and the threat of the north is far from over..."

As Medivh had spoken his last words, he turned back into a crow and flew out, away from the sailing ships. Arthas left with the terrible message - there are still dangers out there, and he had to return to Northrend one day, he hated to believe it, but now he was willing to consider it atleast...he just hoped, he wouldn't have to go anytime soon in the near future, as Sylvanas awoke from the commotion.

"Arthas?" asked Sylvanas, rubbing her eyes.

"Sorry, if I awoke you," said Arthas, going over to her on the bed. "You seem upset?"

"No...just...thinking," replied Sylvanas, as she recalled, what they had done. She wasn't ashamed or regretful, happy yet also worried. "You know, that we-"

"Don't!" said Arthas, knowing what she wanted to say, not this time. "**We** can. I left someone go once, and I was hurt. I don't want to do that again..._if_...you don't mind..."

"No..." said Sylvanas smiling, as they kissed. "...how would we keep in touch?"

"You know how to write?" asked Arthas, causing her to laugh.

"...yes..." replied Sylvanas, chuckling a little.

"Then no worries," said Arthas, as he kissed her forehead and pulled her closer; it would be a long trip home, maybe even a pleasant one.

**XXX**

**A/N: (I disgust myself, xD); points for trolling-Medivh as well...guess some green-skins will be suprised in Kalimdor...**

**Please review.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 9: Return II_

**XXX**

_One month later_

Home. They were back home finally, as Arthas couldn't take his eyes of the lush countryside around him, his home - like he was from another kingdom and just visiting by. All in all, Arthas was just glad to be back; Muradin and his dwarves were heading back to Ironforge on one of Lordaeron' ship, that would return after depositing the dwarves on shore.

The entire land seemed to be in festivity, as his carriage passed numerous cheering villagers and civilians. Nearing Capital City, he could hear the cheering from inside the city - they were happy to seem him returned...and Arthas was glad to be back.

"Well...looks like somebody missed you," teased Sylvanas, sitting next to Arthas, with Marwyn and Falric sitting opposite of them.

"...I can't help but feel, that they welcome me for the wrong reasons..." said Arthas.

"Getting cold feet, M'Lord?" asked Falric.

"Had that already," replied Arthas, hinting of their Northrend journey.

"Didn't we all?" said Marwyn, causing the four people to laugh away the nervousness.

"Well don't be..." added Sylvanas, patting Arthas on his hand - it wasn't a suprise to the occupants that the Prince and Ranger had gotten closer on the way back. With both Falric and Marwyn promised to keep it between themselves, when they found out - although that didn't stop the two men from chatting about it to their amusement.

"We have arrived!" spoke the carriage driver, as he got down and unlocked the door to them. Falric and Marwyn exiting first, then Arthas and Sylvanas.

"Look proud," added Arthas, as they headed towards the city, the gate opening infront of them, the bell above them announcing their return. Slowly the bridge lowered and with a hard thud opened their way to the joyous people of Lordaeron.

Flowers rained from up high, people were cheering for the return of their Prince, from above the rafters. Even the sun shone their way - Falric and Marwyn walked ahead of them, standing tall and their polearms gripped tightly, Arthas waving to his people as they continued towards the Imperial chamber..and through it all Sylvanas was the one who shyly walked through it, trying to hide her flushed face under her leather hood, of the many grateful people of Lordaeron as she got showered in flower pedals like the rest - you didn't ever get a welcoming like this back in Quel'Thalas. Luckily she was walking next to Arthas, otherwise she would've ran away immediately.

Fortunately it ended, as Falric and Marwyn pushed opened the Imperial chamber doors and they went inside. Suprising the aging man who sat on the throne, King Terenas. But he seemed happy to see his son again, dismissing the gathered advisors, as the throne room doors closed behind.

"Ah, my son-"

"No...father..." said Arthas, stopping his father mid-sentence. "...no need for titles or royal welcomes. I've been away for a long time and...I just want to speak to my father."

"As you wish, my son," replied Terenas with a warm smile, as he rose up and left the throne room.

"Well this it."

"Ah! Don't act that way, makes you look like your old self," replied Sylvanas, knowing he'll likely miss her.

"Oh, well I don't want that," chuckled Arthas, as they kissed. Marwyn scratching his helmet and Falric coughing at the show of affection. But unknown to the remaining four occupants in throne room, a young female eyed the couple from behind the curtains and giggled at the scene, before retreating away. "Don't forget to write!"

"How can anybody forget your face?" replied back Sylvanas, causing Arthas to check his face - he felt the underlines of a beard growing on him.

"If you say so," chuckled Arthas, giving her a last hug. "Falric, Marwyn would you mind showing Lady Sylvanas to the Royal Mage, so she can return home?"

"As you wish M'Lord," nodded Falric, as they followed their request. Arthas keeping his eyes on the leaving figure, until she finally disappeared behind a door and Arthas headed to speak with his father.

**XXX**

It had been almost three months, since Arthas had seen his father and...his older sister Calia. She would likely be happy to see him, if not tease him like she used to usually. Nevertheless, they were his family and he missed them most.

"Arthas. Good to see you back," said Terenas, who had changed into some simpler clothes, as Arthas arrived in his private quarters.

"Father. Good to see you too," replied Arthas, hugging his dad as they soon sat down.

"You've been away for a long time, my son. I've heard rumours surrounding you," spoke Terenas worried. "Are you alright, my son?"

"I have been, challenged, tried, beaten and tested, father. I've have lead my forces to dark shores and almost done things I am not proud of," replied Arthas, sighing. "Yet I have returned a changed man, one who banishes those very ideas now."

Terenas could agree that Arthas had a more rugged look to him, he was growing a beard and his hair was a bit messy, battle-scarred seemed the right word to describe him - Terenas was atleast hopeful, that Arthas wasn't changed in a bad way.

"Arthie!" giggled a familiar voice, as Arthas found himself hugged from behind, by a red-haired Menethil, Calia. "So my little brother is finally back?"

"Yes, I am," replied Arthas, patting his sister' hand on his neck.

"You really shouldn't do that. You gave daddy a jump-scare with your whole crazyness and chase-revenge," said Calia, trying to emphasize her point.

"I'm fine, my dear," replied Terenas.

"Yeah...but still..." answered Calia worried about her father. "...you spend so much time ruling the kingdom, even for your age...I'm worried."

"I am aswell, and now I promise to start acting like the Crown Prince I am," said Arthas.

"Where were you weeks ago?" asked Calia, annoyed.

"Chasing a mad-man, who wanted to turn our lands into an undead graveyard," replied Arthas, calmly.

"Oh...right..." said Calia, having heard about the plague.

"Take a seat Calia, I want you both to hear this," replied Arthas, as his sister took a seat and waited for Arthas to tell them both about his journey. "It started in Brill..."

An through the half hour, he explained the most parts of his travel: the undead, plague, threats, and so worth. Although he left _some_ parts out, regarding a cursed object and him going almost mental, as Arthas didn't want to worry his father or sister out.

"...and though we returned, I suggest we keep our ears open for any similar dangers now," said Arthas, finishing his story. Calia having listened through the story with a shocked expression, while Terenas thought about every word uttered.

"So you still think there is danger out there?" asked Terenas.

"We can't be sure, but it wouldn't hurt to increase our patrols, and recruit more soldiers," replied Arthas, keeping the meeting with the _Prophet_ unknown, as Terenas would dismiss it and be more worried about his sanity.

"These are troubled times," uttered Terenas, as he realized up the dangers to his kingdom.

"Father, you won't be alone in this. This was **my** war and I intend to keep the undead off our lands," said Arthas. "But for now, this is just a precaution. I do know were suffering from the after-effects of the plague. How is it?"

"After Stratholme, Uther had organized similar endeavours to other places were the plague had touched," replied Terenas.

"You saved us from the plague, lil'bro," teased Calia.

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Arthas. 'If only that was the truth.'

"...so?" started Calia, in her usual inquiring tone.

"What?"

"You going to comment about that woman, I saw earlier?" asked Calia, a grin on her face.

"Oh no!"

"You are seeing someone?" asked Terenas, curious.

"Yeah," sighed Arthas, he hoped that he could keep this a secret longer, yet knowing Calia that would be impossible.

"Oh please, I saw you two smooching - you like her," teased Calia.

"Your a royal-ass Calia," said Arthas, annoyed.

"I'm your older sister," replied Calia.

"Who is this woman?" asked Terenas, pleased that his son was courting a future wife and queen.

"She isn't from here..." said Arthas. "...she is a high elf, from Quel'Thalas... Ranger-General of Silvermoon...Sylvanas...Windrunner..."

"Wow..." replied Calia, suprised that Arthas had gotten together with a _Windrunner_, as one of them was an Alliance hero. "...didn't take you for an elf lover..."

Arthas merely groaned and rolled his eyes at the bravado of his older sister, yet he was worried on what his father might say.

"Dad?"

"Do you love her son?" asked Terenas.

"I do," replied Arthas seriously.

"She isn't from Lordaeron," he added.

"I know," replied Arthas. "...and I don't care, she saved my life countless of times...she came up with the plan to save Stratholme. I don't care if she is royal, elf or otherwise...I won't break-off with her, no matter what!"

"I never wanted that," chuckled Terenas, feeling the old age of his time. "I am an old man, and you can't help for an old man to be interested in grandkids."

"Dad!" replied Calia, red in her face.

"You don't mind?" asked Arthas.

"No," replied Terenas, chuckling under his breath. "I met your mother the same way - she was a young baker at the time, barely a noble."

"Mom wasn't a noble?" asked Calia suprised about her heritage.

"She wasn't and that didn't held me back. Your mother' pastry was blessedly sweet, hooked me to her and I couldn't stop sneaking back there all the time, in my youth. But my father was adamantly against it, so just one day I brought her to my father and demanded him to marry us."

"I bet granddad didn't take it lightly," replied Calia.

"He didn't...until Lianne brought him one of her pies...and the rest is history," said Terenas, eyeing at Arthas. "Do you believe she is worth it?"

"Yes," replied Arthas.

"Then I hope you treat her well," said Terenas, patting his son' hand.

"Sap..." teased Calia, rolling her eyes as she hugged her brother.

"Yes...well...is Uther here?" asked Arthas, remembering his second duty.

"In the Imperial hall," said Terenas.

"Thank you. If you'd excuse me now...I have a mistake to fix," spoke Arthas, as he left the quarters.

"Well...he seems better," said Calia, as soon as Arthas had left.

"Indeed my dear, the people need him," nodded Terenas. "...his trip has changed him..."

"...and snared him an exotic consort..." chuckled Calia, Terenas merely shaking his head at his daughter' antics.

**XXX**

Uther was busy checking out the several maps and documents surrounding Eastern Lordaeron and of the plague in the Imperial hall, as it was a quiet place to think and only used to discuss and greet ambassadors, most of the times it was empty. So far the plague was mostly brought to heel, _Arthas' plan_ of dispelling the magical properties from the plague worked; without it, the plague was reduced to simple disease that the Light could purge away. If only they knew of this sooner.

Yet they had their problems still: grain needed to be imported in now, until Andorhal was rebuild; mages were requested from Dalaran, to help end this plague for good; and finally there was the hundreds of people who were either missing, dead or needed a new home, due to the devastation ravaged by the _Scourge_. There was a lot that needed to be rebuilt.

Then he heard the chamber doors open and an armored figure walk in, looking up he saw Arthas.

"Prince Arthas..." responded Uther, as he rolled up the maps and documents. "I hea-"

"No, Lord Uther!" interupted Arthas, as he approached his mentor. "I wanted to apologize for my actions months ago, it was unjust and unfair. I banished your loyalty and respect, due my personal vengeance and anger, for that I am deeply...sorry. I don't deserve your respect, but I'll do my hardest to earn it back in any way I can and hear any advice you might grace me with."

By far Uther was shocked, as Arthas finished speaking - he knew Arthas to be willed, determined and always wanting to succeed. But he never heard him speak in such an apologizing tone, not since he had been a child.

"I understand...and accept your apology," replied Uther, glad to see Arthas back.

"I thank you...my friend," said Arthas, yet looking troubled. "...yet there is something I need to tell you about as well."

"About your journey?" asked Uther, to which Arthas nodded and they took a seat, as Arthas started to relay his story, the full version.

In the while, that Arthas relayed his story, Uther listened with cold calmness, focusing on every detail and word like he did during the Second War. He listened the first time at Stratholme, this time he'd make sure not leave any chances of mis-communication or conflicted opinions to drive them apart. Yet he was very intrigued through it all: ancient spider kingdoms, cursed items and lands, fear of secession and abandonment - Uther felt like he had almost caused some of his problems to escalate, but luckily Arthas had remained calm through it all. And the name _Windrunner_ caught his ear, he had known of the valiant elven ranger _Alleria Windrunner_, who had been the great general Turalyon' closest ally and lover, during the Second War. Seemed that another _Windrunner_ had helped save someone again.

"Does Terenas know?"

"I told my father the eased version, I didn't want him to worry," replied Arthas.

"And what of this _Lady Sylvanas?_"

"Are you against it?"

"Just...suprised," replied Uther honestly.

"I am not ashamed, nor willing to part with her."

"So it would seem," replied Uther. Arthas had changed indeed, according to his story, he carried a different aura with him now - once he had the bravado of a young man and the will of it, now he seemed calmer and carried a different aura...seemed...wiser. Seemed that his trip to Northrend was similar to a baptisement, one of fire and steel - once a boy, now a man. One who was already courting somebody special. "What now?"

"I want to continue my training with you, if you will accept me and...more," replied Arthas, as he showed Uther the shards of _Light' Vengeance_ in his pouch.

"Oh...well then, I can think of a few _dwarves_ who might be grateful enough to help you," said Uther, with a smile. Things were looking up in Lordaeron, after everything that had happened.

**XXX**

**A/N: Arthas is back; next chapter he will get a new weapon...and Sylvanas breaks the news to Anasterian. Wonder what will happen?**

**Please review.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 10: Return II_

**XXX**

Quel'Thalas, was it ever more beautiful, if you had been away for awhile. Sylvanas was excited to be back again, the grass under her feet seemed more greener and the leaves...more colorful, another elven autumn was slowly approaching. The Royal Mage of Lordaeron might be an excellent mage by human and Lordaeron' standards, yet by elven standards he was a bit off as Sylvanas had been teleported a bit farther from Silvermoon, but she didn't mind. It gave her the chance to enjoy the view to the city.

"Ranger-General! You're back!" Or not, as Sylvanas saw a brown haired human run up to her, Nathanos.

"Hello to you too, Nathanos!" said Sylvanas, waving at the human ranger. "How have things been here?"

"Same as usual," replied Nathanos.

"You and Lor'themar?"

"One troll away from putting a dozen arrows in his elven ass," replied Nathanos.

"You guys on that bad terms?"

"He is a good archer, yet I hate his attitude," said Nathanos, as they walked towards Silvermoon. "Bloody fool acts like he owns these forests. Had to save his ass twice."

"Trolls?"

"From pissing off his fellow Farstriders," replied Nathanos. "But nevermind about us, how was your trip? I heard it was...interesting."

"You don't know the half of it. But first I have to report it to King Anasterian," said Sylvanas, as they arrived at Silvermoon. "Go tell Lor'themar, that I'm back and he is relieved of duty."

"Right away, Ranger-General," replied Nathanos, a little too eager as he left to carry out his assignment.

**XXX**

As Sylvanas relayed the information of her three-month trip, she could see that King Anasterian wasn't pleased on what he heard: undead, ones similar to what the orcs had used to burn his land; plague, that turned affected into more undead and that it was affected in Eastern Lordaeron, shipped by grain.

"How many?" asked Anasterian, gripping Felo'melorn angrily.

"I'm not sure, they attacked from inside Eastern Lordaeron, yet I suspect they operate from Northrend, from the ruins there," explained Sylvanas.

'Northrend...' thought Anasterian, tapping on the hilt of his blade. Was that place a forgotten one, even the few knowledge from the cursed _kal'dorei_ times - called an un-liveable place, due to the spider-creatures that roamed the part of the continent. Now it would seem that this _Scourge_ had cleared off the ancient threat. Although at the moment, Anasterian wasn't interested in engaging the new dwellers there, for new land opportunities. "What do you advise, Ranger-General?"

"We need to shore-up defenses and train more rangers. These _undead_, might strike again," warned Sylvanas.

"Not under my watch or I assume yours," replied Anasterian, as he rose from his throne. "I will call-up the Silver Circle - so we can discuss the threat you presented us and of full separation of Quel'Thalas from the Alliance."

"What?! But...at this time...we need to stay together," said Sylvanas, shocked stiff on the High King' verdict. "The Scourge will-"

"-attack Lordaeron, if need be, not us. As I will not waste elven lives on another war, farther away from our borders anymore. I have uphold my oath to the Arathi bloodline and we elves owe nothing anymore. If need be we can send supplies, not soldiers and that's it. We still have the troll threat on our edge and we don't need to drain our resources any thinner. You mentioned that this plague is magical in origin, then we can handle ourselves if it comes here. This is my verdict and let it be **so**!"

As King Anasterian left with his bodyguard, Sylvanas was left angrily standing. King Anasterian was wise, powerful and had thousands of years of experience - yet sometimes he could be too blind to see the threat, he only saw the numbers of the dead and resources used, and not the victory achieved. By far he was as stubborn as Arthas...yet she had managed to bring him to reason. With Anasterian she had nothing.

Now Sylvanas was seriously worried - she had seen the undead and how they fought, they had been hard-pressed against the endless horde together, with Lordaeron' troops and now her King wanted to take them on alone. To this she prayed and **hoped**, that the Scourge would stay in Northrend and away from them, because a direct attack from the Scourge would end horribly for the elves - if the warnings of the nerubians from Northrend are anything to go by.

Aswell that now she was faced with writing to Arthas about her kingdom leaving the Alliance, like Gilneas. Which would likely harm relationships between the two lands. Yet she was also writing to remind him that she still remembred _them_ - no matter what their rulers did.

**XXX**

_Arthas_

_By now you might have heard of what has happened - Quel'Thalas, namely King Anasterian is pulling us out of the Alliance. He believes he can take on the Scourge on his own...we both know that is a lie. I explained_ _him the dangers, yet he was adamant of separating and isolating us, like the Gilneans...yet he forgets, we don't have a giant wall made of iron and steel to protect us - just trees and magic...and against the undead I fear it won't be enough...I...sorry...first time writing a letter to somebody close._

_I'm worried, about the safety of my lands, I heard Eastern Lordaeron is still recovering from the plague and the undeath - not much against a full-blown Scourge attack, from there I imagine they could turn either way...to us or to you, along with the dead and killed, who serve them...I...I fear for our safety...and I'm confused on what to do about this predicament...but I hope you can respond to this one and give some help on the subject. - Love, SW._

Arthas crunched up the letter and threw it into the fire, after he had finished reading it. Four days had managed to pass, and now this had to happen - the Alliance of Lordaeron had lost another member due to politics. He would have to write back to Sylvanas, to calm her worrying mind, when he got back. As a man who defended his homeland almost as equally as she did, he understood the troubles burdening her mind - he would feel too, if he were in her position. Another thing he had to do, as Arthas wiped the sweat from his face - as the forges of Ironforge were the hottest on the continent.

He had come here with Uther, two days ago, so Arthas could be made a new weapon - this time he had opted for a sword. Hammering away at the forge was the Dwarven King himself, Magni Bronzebeard. When he heard the Prince of Lordaeron needed a sword, he was more than happy to oblige in gratitude for rescuing his brother. Toiling next to him was Brann Bronzebeard, the Great Explorer and another grateful brother. With finally Muradin himself hammering as well - the three Bronzebeards hammering together.

Both Arthas and Uther would agree that this newly forged weapon would be one of a kind. Forged with the best metals in Khaz Modan and mixed with remaining shards of _Light' Vengeance_, this would be a sword unequal. Even the wooden handle remains were added to fuel the fire - nothing would be wasted. Arthas felt his mistakes burn away with each blow - brashness, arrogance, zealousness, foolishness - as a weapon was reforged, so too would the wielder be a different man.

"The flame burns brightly!" spoke Magni, as sparks flew.

"This weapons wants to be made!" replied Muradin, hammering hard.

"Our greatest achievement!" added Brann, as he added his own hammer blow. Magni then finally thrusted it into the icy-water as the metal cooled and hardened - it was completed, the _Sword of the Three Brothers_ as Magni would then remember it.

"It is done!" spoke Magni, presenting the completed sword - a mix of gold and blue, in a similar pattern that once adjorned Arthas' maul, as if it had been hammered from the Light itself and on the hilt was the symbol of Lordaeron. Now only one thing remained to be done.

"Prince Arthas, it is customary to speak a phrase from the Light, during the blessing of a weapon. Would you do the honor?" asked Uther, as he got ready to bless the blade.

"Of course," replied Arthas, as he stood opposite of Uther. "_Before me stands a weapon of steel, made for war and battles, I ask the grace of the Light to make it into something more. Let it be a defender of the weak and protector of the helpless. Let it be unbreakable as the Light itself. Let it never be used to spill the blood of an innocent. Let it bring a swift end to the lurkers of the void. Let its wielder be calm, be courageous, wise. Let this weapon be known as __**Athe'mar - Wisdom' Edge**__._"

"..."

"...boy...that was amazing..." said Muradin, as Arthas soon lifted up the blessed sword.

"I meant every word I said..." uttered Arthas, as felt the sword' weight around. Then he sheated the holy blade in respect.

**XXX**

Meanwhile, farther away from Azeroth, somewhere in the Twisting Nether three high-ranking dreadlords had gathered: Tichondrius, Anetheron

and Mephistroth - two of them being the epidome of anger at the moment.

"This is a damned disaster!" yelled Anetheron.

"Calm down brother."

"I don't see your head in any danger, Tichondrius!" replied Anetheron. "Archimonde is mad with anger - the Lich King is _incapacitated_, the undead are only one step away from going mindless! The Lich King' _plan_ had failed in the worst way: Frostmourne is in pieces and so was his plan of a gaining a _champion_; and added to the insult, the blasted nerubians have grown even bolder! We are in danger of losing control of Northrend **itself**!"

"Even so, the plan must go on," spoke Tichondrius.

"How?!" asked Mephistroth mad as well. "We don't have the full-control of the Scourge anymore, only the ones we have created or subjugated to our control. Damned be, if the Lich King wasn't _comatose_ I'd melt his damn prison myself!"

"Then we make to with what we have!" said Tichondrius.

"We barely have enough forces under our control to hold Northrend, the dreadlords there are trying to fix this problem yet the damned nerubians are hindering our every step!" said Anetheron.

"All the more reason the speed up our plan," replied Tichondrius.

"We lack the power to completly crush the human kingdom, let alone take on the elves afterwards," said Mephistroth.

"Ahh...but who said anything of crushing the humans...atleast for now."

"What are you scheming on, Tichondrius?" asked Anetheron.

"Of doing what we Nathrezim to best - sow chaos," spoke Tichondrius. "Remnants of the Cult of the Damned still linger in the human kingdom. All we needed to do is grab the Summoner and leave a trail of destruction and confusion in our wake, courtesy of the cult. The humans will remain to pick up their pieces and from there we charge towards Quel'Thalas."

"Even so, we'd still be short on forces," said Mephistroth.

"Your forget about a certain race at elves border," added Tichondrius. "I don't think it would be much trouble, to _persuade_ the trolls to join our cause...and added to the sweetness, the Elven King has isolated his lands from his allies, further alienating the elves from the humans - their arrogance will be their downfall."

"Maybe...but we still need a leader!" said Mephistroth.

"There is a human baron, who leads the Cult of the Damned remnants, who can fill our requirement. As well as, that I'll be _personally_ leading this assault to ensure it succeeds," spoke Tichondrius. "It has been awhile, since I had the pleasure of spilling...elven blood..."

"This is a bold step...yet nothing less, than what Archimonde demands," said Mephistroth.

"It advise you to be careful...brother...these elves are descendant of the Highborne exiles...and..._**kal'dorei**_," spat Anetheroth at the last name.

"They are mere shadows of the high mages who we battled long ago," replied Tichondrius. "It's time we ended the High Elven bloodline...permanently..."

**XXX**

**A/N: Quel'Thalas left the Alliance; Arthas got a new sword and the dreadlords are scheming. Find out where this leads...**

**Please review.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 11: War I_

**XXX**

_Sylvanas_

_I received you letter, regarding you worry about your people and the Scourge. While it is a saddening fact to hear Quel'Thalas leaving the Alliance, I had relayed the same information to my father and Uther the Lightbringer - while they were skeptical, they had agreed to recruit more soldiers and shore up defenses...and actually listened._

_While that is being done I do regret to inform, that Eastern Lordaeron is in a bad state: Andorhal, Brill, Heartglen are all being slowly rebuilt. Stratholme has currently tied up most of the relief effort, due to it being a critical city too important to lose. I hate to admit but at the moment, the only thing you can do __**IS**__ to shore up your defenses, because I can't do much on my part...except lead an army to de-throne your idiot king...hehe...kidding..just trying to brighten you up..._

_...don't be afraid to write or visit, I still remember our time...even if it was on a ship. I still can't forget your warm smile, sunny-long hair, ruby lips...and your sky-blue eyes. Alright, don't be shy - I'm just over the border, if you need someone to hug. - A._

Sylvanas could barely contain her blushed face as she read it twice over. A good thing she read any letters in her private home otherwise she would have some explaining to do, chuckling as well at the idea of Arthas kicking Anasterian' ass - would that ever be a sight to see. Giving it a final view, before she let the letter catch fire on the candle and burn away - they had agreed to keep this a secret, so no holding onto letters for the _common_ person to find.

Now she was left with a few thoughts to think out - one, what to write back and second, what to do to strengthen their borders? At that time she was thinking of maybe jumping the border to Lordaeron, because of now, she was just out of ideas and plans to protect against an enemy, who could assault at their gates forever.

**XXX**

"Why in da name o' voodoo, should I listen to ya, winged mon?" asked the troll chieftain of the Amani, Zul'jin, ontop of his throne as leader of the mighty Amani tribe, once the great Amani Empire before the Troll Wars. Now a shell of their former selves, due to elves and humans. Zul'jin being one of them, missing an eye and arm, yet still strong in will and spirit. Across him, between many trolls stood a weird figure - it walked on hooves, had sharp, large claws and horns with red, scarred wings on his back - who had wished to speak with the Amani Leader.

"Because I, can offer you something you've always dreamed of," replied Tichondrius, not minding the fact that he was surrounded by hundreds of trolls. They would be easy to persuade.

"We haf everything we need winged-mon," said Zul'jin, dismissing his claim. "Wat can ya offer us?"

"Oh is that so?" chuckled the dreadlord, during towards the troll and then Zul'jin. "I suppose vengeance against the elves isn't required?"

Almost every troll in the vicinity grimaced at the mention of elves - they had come to their lands, stolen their lands, built their cities on sacred troll grounds and destroyed their mighty kingdom; it didn't need a reason, all Amani trolls hated the High Elves with a blood-vengeance.

"Yes, vengeance. The chance to spill elven blood is within your grasp, along with the destruction of their precious city. Just imagine it, elves screaming, drums roaring, battle-cries shouting," explained Tichondrius, preying on their lust for battle and blood. "The elves didn't defeat you, they just had the humans tie you up, you were out-numbered. In a real battle, the elves would lose for sure - you know this."

"Wat be ya offering us?" asked Zul'jin, getting to the point.

"A chance - you can stay here and let the elves bleed you dry and leave you to rot in your once great city or you can grasp the opportunity and fight with an army, that is _unrelenting_, _fearless_, _tireless_ and _merciless_," spoke Tichondrius. "I can even give you a promise of this..."

"Prove it!" replied Zul'jin, ordering a dire-troll berserker to face against the dreadlord - strength mattered among trolls, did he speak the truth or just blow wind.

"Gladly!" said Tichondrius. Even before the troll could react, a red bolt of lightning had struck its chest - courtesy of Tichondrius, who merely watched as the mighty troll fell down dead in a heartbeat, its chest ripped apart by his magic spell; its renegeration useless against dark magic. He then waved his claws over the body, ressurecting the troll as his undead servant easily. Needless to say, the trolls were impressed...and fearing, having felt elven magic on their skin once. "This is only the beginning - our armies strengthen with every foe we slay. This is just a bare fraction of our real power, of our armies, this undead troll being an example - loyal, tireless and strong. Once this is over, you can expect every last elf to be killed...and turned into our undead slaves...**forever**!"

That last sentence had gotten a roar of approval from the Amani trolls - vengeance could be theirs and the elves enslaved would sit them just fine. Zul'jin on the hand, had been examining the scene unfold in front of him, a **dire** troll brought down with ease...then turned into an undead servant, with minimal effort. Such kind of magic was still hard to learn by the Witch Doctors and Voodoo Masters, and even they didn't work that fast. Zul'jin was intrigued.

"Dat be the case...okay winged-mon. Zul'jin will listen to vat you haf to say..." he replied, eager to hear about the dreadlord' plan or was it just feeling the battle-rush return to his old, mangled body.

**XXX**

Back in Lordaeron, one Arthas Menethil was sitting in the Capital' large bell-tower, that over-looked their kingdom and city. Meditating next to the large iron-bell that rang each hour. He had been training hard, these last few days when he had returned from Ironforge, _Athe'mar_ lying infront of him. Arthas had wielding the sword a couple of times and it cut through wood and hacked steel, as if only the wind held it back.

Currently he was remembering each and every person, who had died on his quest to Northrend - be they elf, dwarf or human; he recalled every face and uttered a prayer to the Light for each one. He wouldn't forget them - you learned from mistakes, but you should always remember those mistakes and Arthas did.

His new out-look on training and learning the Light didn't go noticed by his peers nor of his close relatives either.

"How long has he been there?" asked Terenas, eyeing the figure of Arthas against the setting sun.

"Four hours, if I'm not mistaking," replied Uther. "He is meditating there."

"Meditating?"

"Indeed, Arthas is taking the teaching of the Light to heart - once he was so willful, one-sighted, very competitive. Now he has done a complete reversal: he contemplates each move he makes, is more lenient, accepting and adapting. He even has gone through a variety of ancient tomes of the Light - wanting to learn old techinques and skills from there," explained Uther. "I've seen him fight as well, once he just beat his opponent to the floor...now he merely gestures their weakness, after he had won in a duel against them."

"He is growing into a King..." muttered Terenas. "...is he ready, old friend?"

"One time, I would have said not yet, he needed more time..." spoke Uther. "...but now, I would say he could handle duty, if you would pass away."

"It's a good thing to hear," replied Terenas, walking over to his desk. "I've had the weight on me for seventy years now; my Lianne passing away two years ago..."

"...are you dying, Terenas?" asked Uther worried.

"Not yet, dear friend. But I feel old, feeling it these last few days - guess its the Light showing me its soon time to pass on the mantle," said Terenas, rubbing his eyes. "...I am old..."

"...your not that old," replied Uther in good humour.

"I took the throne, when I was twenty-one and ruled for seventy years..." said Terenas. "...I'm not my young self anymore..."

"Yet here you have remained these years," replied Uther, as he eyed Arthas as well in the bell-tower - he was now convinced that Arthas could take up the King' mantle, yet uncertain how would he respond to any aggression against his people.

However a rapid knocking broke his pondering, and it was a franting one.

"Who is it?" asked King Terenas.

"Commander Falric of the Royal Guard's," replied the voice.

"Enter!" spoke Uther, as the Commander entered, wearing the decorated armor of the Royal Guards. Ever since Northrend, Falric had been awarded in rank - he was now Commander, with Marwyn being made Captain. But he had been entrusted with a far secret assignment from Arthas, one he hated to bring up now.

"I have to see Prince Arthas!" replied Falric, breathing heavily. "It's urgent!"

"What has happened?" asked Uther.

"Runner came! Undead! Spotted near Andorhal! In force!" gasped Falric, as he relayed the message. "I need to inform Arthas!"

"So it begins..." said Uther.

**XXX**

**A/N: The Third War has begun...can hope prevail?**

**Please review**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 12: War II_

**XXX**

As soon as word had reached Arthas of undead spotted near Andorhal, he was already armored up and riding towards Andorhal with a contigency of fifty knights along with Falric, Marwyn and Uther. Arthas rode infront with haste, as when you dealt with the undead then time was important - the longer they waited, the more people died and joined the undead ranks. On horseback it was faster as well with Andorhal coming into their view within an hour of riding - and it was in flames again, like months before.

"Halt!" ordered Arthas, as he arrived on the outskirts first - the knights behind him coming to a halt. Andorhal was burning, ransacked and destroyed...yet barely any undead presence, only the odd mangled ghoul around.

"Where are they?" asked Falric, as he scanned the city, there had to be undead around here somewhere.

"Were there any civilians here?" asked Arthas worried, as they slowly rode through the town.

"No, mostly guards and workers - to protect against any bandit attacks and help with rebuilding. This town was in the middle of being brought back up," replied Uther.

"Guess that has been postponed," added Marwyn.

"But where are they?" asked Arthas. "You said there were guards and builders, and Falric had been notified of a large undead force. Where are they?" asked Arthas.

"They all died...and left..." coughed somebody, a burly worker in the usual lumberjack attire with a bloody axe in his hand. Himself looking beaten up as well.

"Who are you?" asked Falric, weapon ready.

"Name's Jeb, and I'm all that remains of here," replied the man, sitting on a broken piece of log.

"What happened here, citizen?" asked Arthas, dismounting and approaching the man, taking off his helmet to show his face.

"The worst happened, M'Lord. Those creatures came...many...attacked everybody and tore this place apart, I managed to hide, with my axe," spoke Jeb. "Killed them all, they did. Then did that freaky stuff to bring them back...as those freaks. Went after the graveyards too, no rest for the dead either..."

"Graveyard! Falric, go check up. See if _he's_ still there," said Arthas, realizing the threat.

"At once!" replied Falric, riding towards Andorhal' graveyard with five knights in tow.

"Where did they head off to?" asked Arthas.

"Everywhere..." replied Jeb, pointing at every direction. "Small groups, went everywhere...yet a larger group...many, many of them...they started to head north. That's all I know..."

"Thank you citizen!" said Arthas to the man, as he soon went back to Marwyn. "Get this man to safety as well."

"Yes, sire!"

"Uther, I need some advice..." said Arthas, as he went next to Uther to discuss.

"Where the undead might be heading?" replied Uther, which Arthas nodded to. "Mhm. Well, several towns and cities lay near the north - they could be heading at Stratholme, through the woods or Tyr's Hand, Heartglen?"

"M'Lord!" yelled Falric, returning swiftly on horseback. "We've confirmed it - the necromancer' grave is empty."

"Damnit!"

"But why north? Is there where they plan to take hold, but that's on the border of-"

"-the high elves!" interupted Arthas, now worried. "They aren't heading to attack us. They're heading towards Quel'Thalas!"

"But, why?" asked Uther.

"Kel'thuzad! The damned betrayer, and necromancer. No doubt they want to siphon the elves' magic for their purpouse," spoke Arthas.

"Couldn't they just revive him? Like they do with the other undead?" asked Uther.

"I don't know, but with an army like that, the necromancer' remains and the magic the elves possess, I fear they might be heading there," said Arthas.

"You know this is just speculating. We have several undead groups heading towards our villages and cities as well."

"Distraction, Uther. I know they'll be heading towards Quel'Thalas!" whispered Arthas, louder than he wanted.

"I thought you had gotten past the whole, chasing shadows and rumours part?" asked Uther, worried again about his pupil.

"I-now. But this isn't...it's...personal," whispered Arthas, looking worried about a certain person.

"Ah, I see. You fear _she's_ in danger?"

"Yes. I know the undead, I have fought them. The elves don't stand much of a chance."

"You forget, that they have secrets and magics far older than us..." replied Uther.

"...I know...trust me..." sighed Arthas.

"Very well. What do you need me to do?" asked Uther, accepting of his choice.

"Take the knights and start scouring the undead that went after our towns."

"What about you?"

"I'll get the aid on my way there," said Arthas.

"That won't be enough...Stratholme and Tyr's Hand. Most of the paladins and soldiers of Eastern Lordearon are stationed there," spoke Uther. "However bulk of our army is still in Western Lordaeron unfortunately."

"Can you handle without them?"

"Haha. I'm not as helpless as I appear boy. You should know that," replied Uther. "Now go! I can handle this."

"Right. Falric, Marwyn! I need you to ride towards Stratholme and gather most of the paladins and soldier stationed there. Leave enough of them to defend it, then make haste towards the elven border and gather any willing soldier with a horse on your way."

"Saving our friend?" teased Marwyn.

"Yes! Make haste!"

"Yes, sire!" replied both of them, as they rode towards Stratholme.

"Light watch over them and you, Uther," said Arthas, as he mounted up and rode towards Tyr's Hand.

"You too, Arthas," replied Uther, as he gathered the fifty knights and went after the smaller undead forces.

**XXX**

Sylvanas was teleported to the outskirts of the _First Silvermoon Gate_, having received troubling news from a sentry. Arriving there she could see the look of dreadness and the unmistakeable stench of rotting death - the Scourge were here. Now she had the duty to defended Quel'Thalas at all costs, yet a troubling sensation tugged at the edge of her mind - _if the undead were here, then what had happened to Lordaeron...and Arthas?_ No matter, she would find it out later, now she needed to focus.

"Report!"

"Undead spotted near the edge of our borders. They've smashed through and have established a foot-hold over the ridge," spoke a bowman.

"How many?" asked Sylvanas.

"A thousand atleast, maybe more."

"Damn!" cursed Sylvanas. "Okay. Keep this base secured, I'm going to have a little chat with them."

Sylvanas only took about five archers with her, as she needed to be fast, quick, yet able to deal with any sudden attacks as well. Jumping from tree to tree, until she saw the undead encampment and someone on a skeletal horse, who was barking orders.

"Hello, Butcher!" growled Sylvanas, sending several arrows flying into a few nearby ghouls and skeletons to get his attention. "I'm Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of Silvermoon, I advice you turn back. Now!"

"You think were that easy to defeat?" asked the hooded figure. "Name is Baron Rivendare - and I advice **YOU** to turn back!"

With a snap of his fingers, a dozen crypt fiends unburrowed from beneath them, outnumbering her little group.

"Fall back!" yelled Sylvanas, as they got pelted by the several attacks. Losing three rangers in the ensuing attacks.

"Not so easy, is it?" taunted Rivendare, as Sylvanas retreated higher upto the trees.

"Fuck you!"

"Manners my dear..." laughed Rivendare, hearing the meat wagons get in place. "Consider this a welcoming gift. Fire!"

Sylvanas then heard the dreaded craking and gears turning as several gunks of flesh appeared in the skies - _meat wagons_.

"RUN!" screamed Sylvanas, jumping off the trees, as the mix of flesh and steel tore the trees apart and her remaining backup. Her rolling onto the ground hard, breathing heavily.

"Not so mighty are you, without your sparkling tricks and trees?" taunted Rivendare, from the large opening, the once magical trees splintered to pieces. Then the undead started to march forward at her.

"You'll pay for this..." she warned, slipping through shortcuts and ley-ways that only the Farstriders knew. Arriving back at her base shortly, panting heavily - where several reinforcements had luckily arrived: Lor'themar, Halduron and Nathanos.

"What happened?"

"Undead! Many!" panted Sylvanas, regaining her composure. "They have meat wagon, monstrous constructions that tear through our beloved trees, so watch out."

"What now?" asked Halduron.

"Give me a moment," said Sylvanas, thinking out a plan. "Lor'themar take one group and starting attack the undead from one side, Halduron you take the other side. Keep your distance and wither them down. Don't! In any way! Engage them head-on, you'll end up killed quickly. No matter what!"

"Very well," replied Lor'themar following his orders and heading out with a group of rangers. Halduron following as well.

"And me?" asked Nathanos.

"Stick close to me! I need some I can trust to watch my back!" replied Sylvanas.

"You can count on me!"

"Good. Lets head out," spoke Sylvanas.

**XXX**

In the local tavern of Tyr's Hand, one former Lord Tirion Fordring was nursing a good piece of bread and a steaming mug of cranberry juice. Hiding in the shadowy corner of the tavern, a long cloak hiding his looks and face - he wasn't hated, but he wasn't liked here either. Despite being sent into exile, he still longed for a few comforts of the home life - yet by far he stood by his believes, saving that orc Eitrigg wasn't the right or lawful way, but it was the Light' way - and the Light still granted him its powers.

He was grateful for the local barkeeper here, who despite whom he was, gave him the opportunity to stay and get a bite to eat every once in a while. A Light' blessing on the old man, who ran this place - it wasn't Mardenholde, yet it had a roof and a warm fireplace; and that was all he needed. Living in exile wasn't easy, but bareable - the Light kept him warm through it all. Yet the quietness of the tavern ended as soon as a knight entered.

"Prince Arthas is here! He's looking for soldiers!" said the man, before heading outside, the soldiers and guards there following him. Tirion interested too, as he headed outside as well. Keeping his cloak close around him.

"Soldiers of Tyr's Hand! Knights, paladins! I request your aid, for a danger much greater than those of the orcs that we had faced ages ago! Undead, horrendous creatures, who slaughter our people and raise them into their undead ranks for their horrendous goals! Some of you have heard of them, some of you have fought them, some of you might have seen your loved ones die at their hand! Now I ask your aid to ride with me! Ride north, where their army is headed! Why you ask? To eliminate this threat, so they would never threaten our lands ever again! Who of you will ride with me?!" boomed Arthas' voice to the gathered men, who yelled in approval, all except for one man.

"The elves live in the north!" came the voice of High General Abbendis, realizing Arthas' true intent, the cheering stopping at that statement. "Why should we ride to their aid? They left the Alliance, like the Gilneans! Let them rot for all I care!"

Before Arthas could reply to the General' statement a voice came out.

"I'll ride...if you provide me with a horse," spoke Tirion, infront of the mounted Arthas.

"You...I remember you..." said Arthas, dismounting and removing his helmet. "...Tirion Fordring..."

"That I be..."

"You aren't welcome here, Tirion..." spat Abbendis, angry at seeing him here. Some of the men as well not looking pleased to see an orc sympathizer here.

"...I wasn't speaking to you. I heard the Prince was looking for men..." replied Tirion. "...and I still uphold to protect the innocent..."

"Says who?" asked Abbendis, walking over to Tirion. "...symphatizer!"

"Enough!" roared Arthas, drawing out _Athe'mar_ and glowing in a bright aura, scaring the battle-hardened men around them, even shocking the High General. All except for Tirion - who felt the holy might of the Prince, it felt strengthening.

"These aren't you mindless orcs, High General!" spoke Arthas at General Abbendis. "These are monstrous beasts, the like which you haven't ever seen! They are merciless, endless, fearless - they attack and kill, any men you fight with, be they dead-loyal or fanatical mean nothing. They will kill them and raise them to serve **them**, any former loyalty is for naught. They will be ordered to kill you...and they **WILL** follow it!"

"But if you won't ride with me to help our allies, or out of justice, or duty to help the weak and innocent. Then by the Light, to it for atleast yourselves, for you children and their future! So they, might not have to face the horrors or hordes of the undead or dead elves who will seek out your children in their undeath! **Will** the great warriors of Lordaeron ride with me? Or does an ex-Lord have more honour than the entire army of our nation?!"

**XXX**

Sylvanas was getting more and more exhausted as the Baron' attacks kept on coming. His meat wagons tore apart the trees blocking their routes and his skeletons and ghouls tore apart her rangers. He was advancing rapidly and slaughtered anybody in his way. Contact with Lor'themar and Halduron had been cut off, yet she still saw attacks coming on the undead' sides, so there was a good chance that they were still alive: Halduron being the second-best archer in Quel'Thalas and Lor'themar being both a skilled bowman and swordsmaster - they wouldn't go down easily. For now she was gambling on withering down the undead, but they attacked in vast groups - inflicting more casualties on her forces, than on theirs. She hated to think about it, yet Sylvanas feared that the _First Silvermoon Gate_ would be breached.

"Nathanos! Status?" asked Sylvanas, raining arrows from across a river, while several elven swordsmen held the bridge.

"Badly! Too many wounded! We can't hold!" replied Nathanos.

"Halduron? Lor'themar?"

"We can't reach them! Neither can they! Luckily the undead are focusing the bulk on us, so they're mostly safe," he replied.

"How far are our reinforcements?"

"They won't make it in time! We need to head to the _Second Silvermoon Gate_!"

"We can still hold this bridge!" replied Sylvanas, only for an abomination to clear-out the remaining swordsmen, smashing them apart and scattering their bodies into the river. "Damn. Fall back to the Gate! Fall back!"

"Forward!" roared Rivendare, ontop of his mount, as the elven defenders were massacred. "Leave none alive!"

Sylvanas rushed back towards her encampment, where her remaining rangers were already setting up traps and defenses.

"Set up a perimeter, I want rangers ready for the undead. We'll give the-"

"TROLLS!"

"What? Where?" asked Sylvanas, as a young runner arrived at their encampment.

"Trolls! Their attacking! From Zul'Aman!" yelled the dead-scared runner.

"Impossible! They were supppsed to be dorman-"

"Zul'jin' leading them! They are so many!"

"Calm down!" she replied, slapping some sense into the scared elf. Then the frightness hit her as well. "Many?"

"I fear...that it might be a city-full of them," said the runner.

"Sylvanas?"

"They are breaking through!"

"Give me a moment!" screamed Sylvanas, as she tried to gather her thoughts. Undead on one side, trolls between behind her - she now **needed** to retreat, yet that would doom some of her rangers and the people who lived at the outskirts to their dead. That kind of thought brought tears to her eyes, yet she needed to act before she lost everything. "Retreat."

"Ranger-General?"

"What about Lor'themar, Halduron and the people living in the outskirts?" added another ranger suprised.

"Abandon this base...or abandon any chance of saving Quel'Thalas," she replied, pained at her choice. "Because the trolls attack just cut our forces in half and the undead will eat up our halved one - namely us. Move or we're all going to die!"

"You heard the Ranger-General. Retreat! To the secondary base," urged one ranger, the rest following.

"Sylvanas? Are you sure?" asked Nathanos as they retreated.

"The undead infront of us, the trolls behind us - we'll be torn apart," replied Sylvanas, as she retreated.

"Continue running, little elf. You won't get far," muttered Rivendare, as he eyed the rangers retreat back. Their mighty _Gate_ easily taken. Seemed that the dreadlord had managed to complete his mission.

"Baron, what of the elves on the outskirts?" asked a nearby acolyte.

"Leave them to the _trolls_. We have our of own agenda to complete," said Rivendare, urging the undead forward, as he charged after the elves on his undead steed.

**XXX**

"This...does not look good," said General Abbendis, as he rode after the Prince, along with five hundreds knights and paladins from Tyr's Hand. Having the insult of working with a symphatizer and to spill blood for the elves, who had left the Alliance in their vast pride and arrogance. Yet when he saw the blighted land, trees and smelled the rotting stench, his mood changed instantly and his anger vanished in a second. 'Thank the Light that I left Brigitte behind.'

"This is just the warning before you face against the undead hordes," replied Arthas, dead-calm.

"These are just rumours, right?" he asked, reinging in his horse - he hadn't seen much activity against the undead, only rumours that his soldiers spoke.

"High General, I've faced them, fought them and have killed my own raised people. I **wish**, that they were just rumours," replied Arthas, sending a few shivers up some soldiers, as some had heard _rumours_ of the Prince' travels and they did not sound pleasant.

"Hail, Prince Arthas!" came Falric' voice, from the road.

"You too Commander. You brought friends?"

"That I did," replied Falric, with one thousand five hundreds Lordaeron' finest with him.

"We also have two great paladins with us today," spoke up Marwyn, arriving on horseback with two paladins behind him on horses. "Highlord Alexandros Mograine and Lord Commander Saidan Dathrohan of the Silver Hand."

"Glad to have you two with us," replied Arthas, joyed to see two of Lordaeron' heroes with them.

"We serve the Light and we heard your call," said Highlord Mograine. "We heard it was dire."

"Indeed!"

"What might you be doing here, Tirion?!" asked Saidan, upon seeing Tirion here.

"He is with us!" replied Arthas, breaking up the two men and their soon-to-be fight. "I need men of strength and skill, every man counts now; _past_ actions irrelevant. Look at this land, what afflicts it and beyond, a deadly menace awaits us there. Make no mistake, this will be dangerous and you may die. If **any** you have any objections...then you are free to turn around and leave. Yet I warn you, that whatever is happening beyond, might one day come to Lordaeron as well and...I dare speak no further from there..."

"Any objections?" repeated Arthas, looking over his army - two thousand strong, none had left or voiced any discomforts or displeasures. "Good men. With me! For the Alliance!"

"For the Alliance!"

"Forward!" roared Arthas, as they started their ride towards the elven border and towards the Scourge army.

**XXX**

**A/N: Barons, speeches and intresting semi-characters...**

**Please review.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 13: War III_

**XXX**

Today was to be a great day for one Magister Dar'Khan Drathir: the most punctual, elegant, ambitious and traitorous of them. One who valued fine things - he wore very eye-catching and _unique_ clothes and outfits, that looked more suitable to a banquet or ball rather than to a magister. Yet he wasn't the one who'd sink low enough to wear those dull robes, as clothes didn't make the mage, only skill did - so he saw no point in wearing them.

He was a handsome and skilled elf, that he knew and exploited, but also who felt under-appreciated. Years of serving, teaching and numerous developments for the betterment of Silvermoon and all who lived there - yet each and every time the position of Grand Magister was awarded to Belo'vir Salonar, an old and aging elf, who fit the bill of a _wise_ magister with a gray beard and long robes. _So they denied him, because he didn't look the part? Who made the rule of looks, skills and success not allowed to go hand-in-hand?_

It didn't matter, not anymore - because soon they'd all see the foolishness of their arrogance and ignorance. Nodding to a few guards, as he approached the Magister's Terrace, his long-trimmed hat hiding his by large grin. Days ago a human had approached him, having seemingly just appeared out of nowhere in Quel'Thalas - calling himself Rivendare, a Baron from Lordaeron, but what he possessed made him even more curious - a simple noble, yet he wielded magic, namely necromancy, on a scale with a level of skill that even suprised him...more so that he came with an offer.

Namely one, where he was planning on going to raze everything in his path to Silvermoon, and _acquire _an item of importance from there. For what purpouse he didn't say, normally an elf would report this kind of danger to his homeworld, but Rivendare gave him an offer he couldn't refuse - access to the Sunwell itself and the chance to play hero, and claim his just rewards. The Baron would rush through their defenses and reach the Silvermoon,

then afterwards he would 'repel' the undead and be declared Savior of Silvermoon and all the rewards entitled to him. Seemed simple enough and if the Baron tried to double-cross him, then he could easily kill him with the magics he possessed - Rivendare was even _kind_ enough to empart with him a piece of his magical might, for his _part_.

For everything to work however, a few things needed to be removed - namely a few runestones and a _couple_ of magisters to prevent them from shielding up Silvermoon against the undead. Also the chance of getting some sweet revenge against those who denied him was most pleasant. The few sentry stone he had placed had reported back to him by then - the Baron had breached, arrived and already blasted through the first gate, an impressive feat nonetheless. Now it was his time to get to work.

"Warmest greetings, fellow magisters," spoke Dar'Khan, as he entered the personal chambers of the Silver Circle - only a few grumbled and went back to their duties.

"I think...we should discuss something important today," he said, walking behind one.

"Namely what, Magister Drathir?"

"Your demise..." he whispered, slicing the neck of the female infront of him with a dagger. Followed by a blast of nercomantic energy to the farthest elf in the room, with the rest scrambling to regain their senses...too late. He chanted a spell, one that the Baron had taught him, and what happened was the draining of the very lifeforce and mana from the gathered magisters - leaving them as decaying husks. Yet the aftermath felt excilirating for Dar'Khan - he felt rejuvinated, stronger, younger...reborn. Were the elves ever fools to outlaw this type of magic.

Cleaning up his hands from the blood, and leaving a skull-adjorned, rusty dagger in one elf - they would suspect the Baron and his Scourge afterwards and not him. Yet still no satisfaction of killing that _Grand Magister_ who wasn't here...no matter, he'd deal with Belo'vir later.

**XXX**

"Keep down!" whispered Lor'themar in a harsh tone, holding back Halduron from revealing their location...to save an elven family, from a group of trolls.

"They'll die," replied Halduron in anger, yet keeping his tone low. Things had gotten from bad to worse as soon as Sylvanas pulled back her forces, leaving them alone. As Farstriders they were used to that, but not to be then ravaged by the trolls, who filled the undead' spot.

The undead blitzed right past them, ignoring most of the outer-villages - likely rushing towards Silvermoon. But then the trolls came in force, starting to burn everything the undead missed. The thought of both parties working with eachother made Lor'themar' blood boil. Even more in anger, because between them both, they couldn't stop the slaughter to happen alone.

"We can't..." growled Lor'themar lowly. The trolls were holding a man and a woman down, while holding a gagged little girl infront of them. This would get sick, and they forced to watch it happen and not be able to help..

"Zala' sura guba!" spoke the troll, raising its axe high, above the little girl' head. Tears running down her face, as she looked to her mom and dad for support.

"Don't look sweety!" cried back the woman, sickened as the trolls started their barbaric chant and ready to execute her little precious.

"Zaa!" roared the troll, then the chanting stopped and the axe fell...colliding ...with hard...metal.

"BRUTES!" roared Arthas, decapitating the almost-elf killer. Then he jumped onto the troll near the woman, while his horse charged and kicked at the troll near the man. Two arrows quickly following, taking out the two shocked and standing trolls.

Even the downed troll was taken aback as Arthas, a human literally kicked the mojo out of him. Each punch had an inhuman fervor and might behind them, finishing off with a nasty head-butt, denting the metal helmet and cracking the skull of the troll. Arthas getting back up and cleaning the troll blood of him.

"Minn'da! Ann'da!" cheered a voice, as she reopened her eyes to see her mom and dad alive, running over and hugging both of them happily.

"Impressive," came a voice, as two elves appeared - rangers, while Arthas was eyeing the family.

"Your arrows?"

"Indeed - Halduron Brightwing. Lor'themar Theron," said Halduron, introducing themselves. "You saved them."

"Prince Arthas Menethil..." he replied, clancing at the overjoyed and happy family, who were glad to be alive. "...and it was nothing..."

"Why you come here?" asked Lor'themar, curious on why a human prince was here.

"Undead. Attacked our towns, villages and cities, we're chasing after them," replied Arthas, being half-truthful.

"You just missed them human," replied Lor'themar. "Passed by here two hours ago.

"That long?!" asked Arthas worried.

"Not to worry - these undead could keep assaulting us for days and not gain any ground," replied Halduron.

"If only that were true, yet knowing the undead they'll overrun you before the sun sets."

"What?!" asked Halduron shocked at the statement. Elves weren't much on heavy-infantry yes, but they weren't useless in combat.

"How far were the undead?"

"Passed by our first gate - their _magically_ enchanted to hold back attackers. The second one is more heavily defended, they can't pass through there," spoke Lor'themar.

"...and if they did pass?" asked Arthas.

"Unlikely...but they would then face the wrath of the magisters," replied Halduron, leaving Arthas to figure out the type of retribution himself.

"Against both the undead and trolls?" asked Arthas.

"...that...might be more challenging..." admitted Lor'themar. The elves were a strong force, yet he doubted how much they could fare against a two-front battle - remembering the Second War, when the orcs and trolls had joined forces.

"Good thing I didn't come alone," replied Arthas as his forces finally caught up with him. Both Farstriders impressed at the size of army following Arthas.

"Do you have to always rush in, M'Lord?" asked Falric, speaking up first.

"To save a young family..." replied Arthas, indicating at the safe elven family. "...then yes. Now then, how bad is the situation?"

"Undead moved by here, yet the trolls are the major problem now," explained Lor'themar. "The undead pushed our forces back so we don't have anybody with us to deal with trolls attacking the outskirts."

"That can be fixed," replied Arthas, facing his army. "Highlord Mograine, can you handle the trolls?"

"That I can," said the battle-hardened paladin.

"Good. Captain Marwyn, take two-hundred soldiers with you and start dealing with the trolls and helping the civilians," ordered Arthas, making sure the relief force had a sympathetic commander and a man he could trust leading them.

"Yes sire!"

"You need a guide to reach the villages, our paths and forest are easy to get lost in," spoke up Lor'themar. "Halduron can lead you."

"Very well. Move out!" said Marwyn, as he, Highlord Mograine and two hundred men followed after Halduron.

"How far is the second gate?" asked Arthas, wanting to secure the safety of a certain person.

"Twenty minute ride. What are you planning, Prince?" asked Lor'themar.

"If your defenses hold, then my forces can attack the undead from behind. Catching the undead between two armies and utterly crushing them and preventing any chance of escape," explained Arthas.

"Indeed - very well, follow me...and keep up," replied Lor'themar, starting to run towards the Second Silvermoon Gate. Hoping that Sylvanas had managed to hold back the undead forces. Arthas and his one-thousand eight-hundred strong army following.

**XXX**

Managing, was that an understatement of Sylvanas' situation - she was barely holding onto her position by the skin of her nails and teeth. Undead in the front, trolls on her side, they were both keeping to their distant battlefields yet seemed to attack at the same time, hammering them hard. Sylvanas fears were coming to realization: the **trolls** **and** **undead** were working **together**. She couldn't send any forces to counter-attack the trolls nor reinforce her frontal position against the Scourge. Now she was counting on the magister' support or else the unholy forces could overwhelm Silvermoon' defenses, if they weren't prepared - they just had a too strong momentum.

But now Sylvanas was getting seriously worried, she had send several runners to inform the magisters of Silvermoon of the incident - so far she had gotten zero response, not from the magisters or from her runners. For the second time, Sylvanas felt the fear creep up her spine, not felt since her journey to Northrend. Common sense told her that she might be able to hold this position for another hour maybe, before her forces would be too exhausted and depleted to fight on.

"Sylvanas! We got a problem!" yelled Nathanos, returning from his scouting mission. Joining Sylvanas' in her camp.

"Status?"

"Same as usual - bad. But there is something worse happening," said the human ranger.

"What?"

"The Keys - one of their locations has been overrun!" replied Nathanos.

"Impossible," muttered Sylvanas, now she was really scared - the three Keys to the Second Silvermoon Gate were hidden and protected - by magic, might and trickery. Nobody knew of their hidden locations besides her and a few magisters. Now she was faced with the possibility of a traitor in their most dire time.

"Sylvanas?"

"Moment..." she sighed, breathing deeply and exhaling, she was a mess and it was getting worser by the minute. "How far are they from the other two?"

"Unknown. Yet...I'd say not far," replied Nathanos.

"Damnit! Can I get any good news?!" cursed Sylvanas.

"Evening," spoke up a crispy and charming tone. One Sylvanas didn't want to deal with at all, yet during this situation she'd accept help from even Magister Drakthir.

"Welcome, Magister!" replied Sylvanas, greeting the extravagantly dressed magister, who exited the portal but came alone.

"I'll take my leave," whispered Nathanos, leaving the camp as he didn't want to deal with the magister' comments regarding him or any other things.

"What I might inquire is happening here?" asked Dar'Khan, walking towards her as Nathanos left.

"Undead, trolls! We're being attacked!" replied Sylvanas, throwing finess and punctuality off the cliff as she needed aid fast and wasn't in the mood for any royal greetings - having to fight for hours straight did that to an elf.

"Well...I didn't expect them to be this far," said Dar'Khan calmly with a grin on his face, eyeing the troll/undead battles from ontop of the cliff.

"We need help! Where are the magisters?" asked Sylvanas, almost losing her patience.

"Oh? They won't be joining us..." replied Dar'Khan. "...but you'll be joining them."

"Wait! Wha-GAH!" gasped Sylvanas, as she felt a sharp knife being stabbed into her stomach, drawing blood.

"Sorry...but your too dangerous for me...and my future...nothing personal..." said Dar'Khan, redrawing his dagger and kicking Sylvanas off the cliff into the forest below. Then he turned towards the shocked encampment, unleashing his _new _magical skills upon them.

Down below, Sylvanas fell through multiple branches and leaves, each impact making her body hurt more - until finally she hit the ground hard, with several broken places and a bleeding gut.

'Damn you!' thought Sylvanas, as the sounds of battle raged up high - **Dar'Khan** had betrayed them; he was known to ambitious and power-hungry, yet this? Groaning through the pain, she needed to get up and hurry away - or else she'd be easy-picking for the trolls or undead; but now she **was **a mess..

"...va...s..." spoke a voice, a figure running to her, yet her vision was hazy and her head dizzy.

"Sylvanas!" repeated the voice - Nathanos, shaking her wake. "What happened? I saw something happening and you falling."

"Betrayed! Dar'Khan!" spat out Sylvanas, too weak and injured

"Fucker! We need to hurry," said Nathanos, covering her gut-wound.

"I'm bleeding! Bastard stabbed me in the gut, and threw me down. I think I broke something as well," groaned Sylvanas, trying to stand up.

"No use. Guess we have to do this the hard way," replied Nathanos, hoisting Sylvanas onto his back.

"What-"

"We gotta hurry. Our lines will collapse soon and we'll be overrun. So I'm carrying you," said Nathanos, running at Silvermoon' direction through a secret ranger way.

"What about...the others?" asked Sylvanas, although knowing the gut-wrenching answer herself.

"...let's hope they can survive through it..." replied Nathanos, being careful not injure her. "...but we can't do much anymore to help them..."

**XXX**

**A/N: War continues, Sylvanas is injuried and Dar'Khan treachery is revealed and Arthas is rushing to the aid - will he make it?**

**Please review.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 14: War IV_

**XXX**

Rivendare eyed the carnage from a top overlooking the _Second Silvermoon Gate_, now smashed apart with undead moving through it - acquiring the _Keys_ to the gate was an easy task, with help from a mutual partner. Rivendare was suprised that the power-mad elf hadn't seen through the fault of his plan - why would he attack Silvermoon for some artifact, if Dar'Khan could easily acquire it for him? By the time he'd recognize his mistake then it would be too late and the Scourge would be victorious.

"You seem to be in-thought," came the voice of his spectral friend, Kel'thuzad.

"Maybe...and you seem a bit chatty for someone who is dead with his remains in a crypt in a Scholomance crypt," replied Rivendare.

"...ahha true that, another thing I am graced thanks to the Lich King," said Kel'thuzad.

"If his powers are so great, then why can't he revive you himself or has to be errand-boy for a bunch of dreadlords?" he asked.

"He is _mighty_ - as evident by yourself. A simple noble turned into a mighty spellcaster; a death knight. You had been doubtful when I had asked you to join...now look at you," replied Kel'thuzad. "Sadly yes, his powers can revive me...but it would take a toll on his powers..."

"Then why are we playing soldier here? We should be defending our lord...not...chasing elves!" said Rivendare in anger. "You said _his_ forces are stretched on Northrend, and that the dreadlords haven't been of any help in solving it."

"Oh, don't worry about that - the Lich King might be 'incapacitated' for now, yet his directive still guides us. Don't worry too much about that."

"...and what of this assault? I think we're over-stretched here as well, Lordaeron might retaliate soon...and you heard that dreadlord, Tichondrius. Victory or...else..." spoke Rivendare.

"Not to worry - no matter how this invasion goes, the Scourge will be victorious in _its objectives_..the Lich King isn't as...jailed...as you might think friend..." chuckled Kel'thuzad.

"Is that so?"

"Indeed...you just worry about getting to the Sunwell and acquiring the waters there. Leave the rest to us..."

"As you wish," replied the Baron, as Kel'thuzad' form disappeared. He himself joining the undead army in its final push - Silvermoon.

**XXX**

The Grand Magister of Silvermoon, Belo'vir Salonar wasn't pleased at what he saw coming in the distance; an army of undead, filled with ranks of skeletons, wraiths, ghosts, strange contraptions, hulking fleshy creatures and even dead trolls and dead elves among them. He had been curious on why the Farstrider outposts had gone silent, with even no word from the Ranger-General herself - until he heard the rumours of an invasion force coming; at first he suspected the humans, for whatever reason they had, being that only _they_ had army large enough to invade but now he was dead-certain that the humans weren't the culprits.

Undead - were they a disgusting sight; orcish death knights had raised mindless skeletons during the Second War. By then they looked bad and smelled bad as well - now another fool was attempting it a second time, and he seemed to have taken his time un raising an army of them. How did Lordaeron miss this kind of annoyance was beyond him, yet now it was time to get to work.

"King Anasterian. We have a problem," spoke the aged magister calmly, arriving down from the spire and into the Sunstrider throne room.

"So I've heard..." replied Anasterian. "Summon the Silver Circle."

"Right away," said Salonar, opening the door to their quarters...where he was assaulted by a horrid sight and stench. "...I...I think we have a problem..."

**XXX**

Sylvanas had dozed off while being carried - she was tired, from both the fighting and her wounds. This invasion had taken a toll on everybody, her included - and it was far from over. She could smell the stench of undeath, the sound of bones and metal clanging, and the sight of a traitor - Dar'Khan. His betrayal could've been expected, but it still felt unreal - Quel'Thalas and the entire elven race could be doomed now, because of _his'_ action.

"Ohh..." groaned Sylvanas, waking up and still feeling ill. "How far?"

"We got a few more paces," replied Nathanos, taking it slowly as the trail they were on was laced with magic and traps. "How you feeling?"

"Bad..." replied Sylvanas, coughing up blood.

"Damnit, you need a healer fast!" cursed Nathanos, moving a little faster. "We're almost there."

"Good to know..." groaned Sylvanas.

Although when they exited the forest and set their sights on Silvermoon, they weren't greeted by a warm sight - instead Sylvanas watched with horror, as undead assaulted their forces on the ground, gargoyles fought their own dragonhawk riders in the air and meat wagon unleashed their deadly payload upon the city, destroying a few buildings in the process - and the elves weren't on the winning side; trolls were among the undead ranks: batriders took down several dragonhawks and more than a few trolls killed off some of their best swordsmen.

'Where is the golden shield of the Sunwell? Where are magisters? Where?!' thought Sylvanas, almost teary-eyed. Gasping at the horrific sight before her.

"Now, we've got to hurry!" said Nathanos, getting a good status of the battlefield before heading at full sprint towards Silvermoon. Coming from the side, Nathanos didn't waste time looking back or thinking straight, just running straight.

"Get! Down!" reared a voice, as Nathanos skitted on the ground and a dozen arrows flew over-head hitting two chasing gargoyle.

"Ranger-General! Healer!" replied Nathanos, getting back up and ran towards the Farstrider position at Silvermoon' gate.

"...inside!" said the ranger, pointing inside the city were several wounded and civilians were held.

"Thank you!" replied Nathanos, running into Silvermoon carrying the injured Sylvanas. "Healer!"

"Over here!" yelled an old elf priest - High Priest Vandellor; helping the other wounded.

"We got betrayed..." said Nathanos, depositing Sylvanas infront of Vandellor, who seemed shocked to find Sylvanas here.

"My dear! Is she alive?" asked Liadrin, appearing next to him, crouching over Sylvanas.

"Gut-wound...nasty...but she'll live..." replied the High Priest.

"Betrayed..."

"What?" asked Vandellor, not hearing due to his age.

"Dar'Khan Drathir!" said Sylvanas, in a hoarse whisper into the old' priest ear. "Betrayed us! Warn Belo'vir!"

"...watch over her Liadrin. I'll be right back," said Vandellor, rising up.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes child," he replied, before heading to find his old friend, Grand Magister Belo'vir and warn him of the danger.

"Nath..." muttered Sylvanas, still feeling dizzy.

"Yes?" asked Nathanos, kneeling towards her.

"Go...kill them," replied Sylvanas, handing Nathanos her Sunstrider Longbow.

"I...I can't accep-"

"I want it back later..." coughed Sylvanas badly, but had a slight grin on her face nonetheless. "...but for now. Show 'em, what a _human_ ranger can do!"

"I won't let you down!" replied Nathanos approvingly.

"...you never had," said Sylvanas, before Nathanos left to fight the undead. "...how bad is Liadrin?"

"It'll take awhile..." replied Liadrin, mending her wound. "...plus you'll be in no condition to fight for atleast two hours..."

'...bloody magister...' cursed Sylvanas at Dar'Khan. She hate being helpless or dependant on someone - especially at a time like this, when she **HAD** to be out there fighting; yet now it was all about hoping...and _praying_ for a miracle.

**XXX**

Arthas was making headway following the Farstrider through the forest, true enough it was hard to navigate in there with all the trees and such...if not for a large and destructively cleared path for them. Filling them, besides the dead trees were several dead archers and a dozen of undead corpses - the undead were in a hurry, and that didn't sound good either way.

Luckily a clearing soon came, which Lor'themar nodded would be the location of the _Second Silvermoon Gate_ and their second encampement - however their hope was soon shattered, as anything that resembled something elven was burned or destroyed. Even Lor'themar being shocked at sight.

"Nononono! All dead!" cursed Lor'themar, as he walked down to the battlefield below. Many dead and many still freshly killed - it was too unreal. "How could this happen?!"

"The undead. I told you the-"

"They couldn't have been so quick!" snapped Lor'themar at Arthas. "Even an army could take hours, getting through! We do have defenses set up! That would hold them back...unless, unless, un-"

"Unless you were betrayed," replied Lord Commander Saidan Dathoran.

"That's impossible. Isn't it?" thought Lor'themar, before heading towards Sylvanas' base, Arthas and his men following him. When they arrived, their fears were confirmed - the base was ablaze with fresh footmarks as well.

"My dear..." muttered Arthas, looking around: the base was still burning and bodies littered them. He was glimpsing everywhere, hoping to find...or not find Sylvanas' body among them.

Then he spotted a necklace lying on the ground. Picking it up, he saw it was a blue engraved sapphire locket. Lor'themar looking shocked at it as well.

"That belongs to the Ranger-General," he said, causing Arthas' anger to rise up. _If they dared._

"We ride," said Arthas, plain and simply, mounting back onto his horse.

"Straight forward, follow the _blighted_ path. It'll lead directly to Silvermoon," replied Lor'themar, pointing at beyond the destroyed second gate. "I'll try to find, if anybody survived this. Shorel'aran and good luck."

"To you as well," said Arthas, leading his army through the gate and hoping they weren't too late.

**XXX**

"Evacuate! Hurry!" urged Magister Rommath, as several women and children were evacuated via portal to the mage-city of Dalaran. It was far away, yet its nexus energies would make sure that the civilians would get there and not end up anywhere else or worse.

It had gotten worse real fast, as strong as the elves were they couldn't stand against two armies at the same time - trolls were difficult upfront, but undead were a nightmare. Now Grand Magister Belo'vir had ordered him and the rest of the elven magi to create portals to one place: for Dalaran and the civilians and the wounded. He was sadly not staying, Belo'vir left the care and safety of the refugees in his hands - Rommath could be holding onto the last remnants of the high elven race.

"Move them. Quickly!" added High Priest Vandellor as well, directing the evacuating of some the worser and heavily injured - they couldn't help, but maybe in the future.

"Is that all?" asked Sylvanas, coming over to Vandellor.

"Of the city..." he sighed, so many were sentenced to death and they couldn't help them. "Your injured as well."

"No way! Just a wound, I can fight!" replied Sylvanas, drawing her two daggers. "This is my duty! And I will die, trying to complete it."

"We don't have much time," said Belo'vir, arriving at their location as the city was seconds away from being breached.

"That's the last of them," spoke Vandellor, as the Rommath left with the last child and wounded.

"Good..." muttered Belo'vir, before his eyes glowed brighter and everybody in Silvermoon was slowly teleported to Quel'Danas, except them two - who held back the tide while the magic worked, Vandellor staying behind with his friend.

"Nono!" cried Liadrin, seeing her adoptive father Vandellor fight against the endless undead...and die. Along with Belo'vir - _why didn't they run?_

"So this it. The end..." said Sylvanas, as she saw the undead pass through swiftly. The large body of water between them and the undead didn't seem much either - they would get here and try to claim the Sunwell.

"So it will be..." spoke King Anasterian, appearing suddenly near them, dressed in some old regal armor with a magi staff in one hand and Felo'melorn in the other. "...they come?"

"Yes - one of our betrayed us to them. Magister _Drathir_ - all our magical defenses were useless," replied Sylvanas leaning on Nathanos. "Belo'vir held back, while he teleported the rest here."

Anasterian could see that there weren't many left here - barely half of Silvermoon's forces, and it likely wouldn't be enough.

"If this be our final day...then I stand with you," said Anasterian, cursing at his inner guilt and pride at letting this happen. "I have ruled...long enough. IF **they** want the Sunwell...then they'll have to pay a blood tithe...a long one, that will never be satisfied! Anar'alah belore!"

"Anar'alah belore!" replied the remaining elves, this would be their last stand. Sylvanas realizing that as well, standing besides Nathanos and Liadrin - one once a simple hunter, now a ranger that Sylvanas as a mentor could be proud; the second a priestess who lost her family, and now a person almost like a father to her, yet still had golden heart as shining as the Light and at the front stood King Anasterian Sunstrider; full of rage and anger, some of them at himself - too late had come the news of this horrible fate, too late to change anything...yet not too late to die fighting.

"Cometh you mindless filths! We're waiting!" taunted Anasterian at the undead over the body of water at Silvermoon, who no doubt heard him. One creature appeared, a red winged-demon cursed Anasterian, as the water between them started to freeze - creating an ice bridge to Quel'Danas. 'So be it!'

"Never imagined myself dying here..." said Nathanos, readying the Sunstrider Longbow. "...Lordaeron maybe, not Quel'Thalas."

"I never expected either..." replied Sylvanas, feeling a slight regret in her heart - for her homeland...and...Arthas. "Liadrin, is it too late to ask for the Light?"

"I'm doubting. One last time..." said Liadrin, who was almost teary-eyed and broken down with everything that has happened. _"By the grace that shines in our hearts I ask for aid...that...would help us vanquish these creatures...our homes and our lives have been broken...our hope fading...oh for please HELP US!"_

"Pathetic..." spoke Tichondrius, arriving on the shores of Quel'Danas with the Scourge and Amani. "...nothing can save you now..."

The remaining elves got ready for a last stand, as the dreadlord merely taunted them - but for Liadrin it was enough to make the young priestess cry and shake her to the core, and to her faith in the Light...until she heard it - a sound in the wind, a battle-horn being blown...and so did the rest.

'Impossible!' thought Sylvanas, looking beyond Silvermoon and saw a lone armored figure on a horse, blowing a horn - it was the battle-cry of Lordaeron. Then the figure charged forward...followed by an army behind him - Lordaeron' forces, over a thousand strong. "Blessed ancestors!"

"By the Sunwell..." said Liadrin, her mood turned, the Light had answered their plea. "...the Light has answered us!"

"Fools! Get ready!" cursed Tichondrius - seeing Lordaeron' army charge at them, now **they** were between two armies.

"For Lordaeron! Drive these foul abominations back to the abyss!" yelled Arthas, charging first at the army of trolls and undead.

"For Lordaeron!"

"For King Terenas!" yelled Arthas again, riding fast through Silvermoon and closing in.

"For King Terenas!"

"FOR THE ALLIANCE!" roared Arthas, over the field as his armor and _Athe'mar_ glowed in a holy aura.

Then they fell on the undead - hooves crashing and bones breaking, as Lordaeron lances pierced the trolls and undead in their way. Arthas swinging his blade with an unrelenting fervor, cutting a path right and left as enemies fell down each time his holy blade hit. Falric riding close as his own sword was covered in ichor and troll blood, each swing sending an enemy reeling. Tirion feeling the might and rush of the Light flow again, as his own maul send an abomination reeling with Saidan Dathoran' own blow sending the abomination to the ground; finished by General Abbendis' lance killing the downed abomination. A good quarter was killed in the rush, as Lordaeron' army broke through, riding directly at the elven army.

"Paladins! Dis-mount!" yelled Arthas, jumping down infront of King Anasterian with a hundred paladins following - Lordaeron' knights spliting and riding off to the sides, turning directly at the enemy. "Stand with me, brothers and sisters of the Light! Rise up! Rise up and send these foul monsters back the abyss! **FOR THE LIGHT**!"

"FOR THE LIGHT!" replied the voices of human and elf alike, Sylvanas included who stood ready, despite her wound.

"**CHARGE**!" roared Arthas charging forward, paladins on his side, elves behind him and knights charging at the enemies flanks - the entire emboldened army charging hard at the suprised Amani and Scourge...and broke through them.

Blades, lances, swords and daggers hit, as their combined might attacked the enemy. Claw and flesh were broken against hard steel, axes and spears useless against the Light. Arthas cleaving a path of troll and undead alike, as _Athe'mar_ sliced through them like butter. Sylvanas fought nearby both getting a glimpse of the other, making eye-contact for a split second before returning to fight with renewed strength. Arthas being at the forefront, glowing brighter than the shining sun, as wave after wave of undead fell to the might of the Light. Tirion and Saidan fighting side-by-side despite not liking each other minutes ago, yet the Light kept them both strong with neither man willing to abandon the other in this dire moment. Commander Falric and General Abbendis riding on horseback and cleaving down any foe who got in their way. Through it all King Anasterian wasn't idle either, a chance was given to his people and he wouldn't make the same mistake twice as his own enemies fell to his magic and Felo'melorn - then he caught side of the demon and cut a path to him.

"Foul demon!" roared Anasterian, charging at Tichondrius. Blasting him with fire and swinging his runeblade at the Nathrezim.

"Weak fool!" roared back Tichondrius, fighting in an equal rage, as claw struck metal and blade met armoring.

Nearby Rivendare was fighting for his own life, when Kel'thuzad' spirit appeared.

"Get going!"

"What are you talking about?!" asked Rivendare, cutting down his attacker.

"Sunwell! Go! Before it's too late!" urged Kel'thuzad and his spirit disappeared again.

"If you say so..." replied Rivendare, slipping out of the battle and heading towards the Sunwell, cutting down any elf or human on his way. Yet someone saw through his idea, one dark magister and followed him.

Back in the battlefield, the trolls were being cut down by the combined Lordaeron-Quel'Thalasian army, undead crumbling against the might of the paladins. But there were slight problems for the defenders as well - General Abbendis had gotten lost through the fighting with Falric riding through the enemy alone; King Anasterian as well having difficulty against the dreadlord Tichondrius.

"Weak, insulent!" roared Tichondrius, sending the elven High King reeling.

"You can't win demon!" replied a bloodied Anasterian, managing to hold his own against the dreadlord.

"I am no demon!" roared Tichondrius, kicking Anasterian onto the ground. "I am leader of Nathrezim!"

Tichondrius then struck, wanting to execute the old high elf...yet was stopped by a young priestess, Liadrin.

"Back away filth!" yelled Liadrin, holding her staff high.

"Child!" cursed Tichondrius, blasting Liadrin with red lightning...only for it to meet a holy blade that blocked it.

"Dreadlord!" spat Arthas, holding strong against the dreadlord' magic and send it back at him. "Get him out of here!"

Liadrin merely nodded and dragged the wounded Anasterian away from the battle, leaving Arthas with Tichondrius.

"You'll pay for that, human!" said Tichondrius, getting back up.

"Try me!" replied Arthas, lifting his blade up.

"I'll make yo-AGH!" choked Tichondrius, getting pierced by Athe'mar swiftly. Then Arthas pulled back and cleaved off the dreadlord' head in holy might.

"Is talking all you demons do?" taunted Arthas, as the dead dreadlord' body impacted the ground and shocking the Scourge at the suddeness. A funny sight for Arthas to see the dead being scared.

"FLEE!" yelled a nearby necromancer, turning around and running away, other necromancers and a few trolls following.

"No! Ya cowards!" roared Zul'jin in anger. The Amani were so close, the _Second Silvermoon Gate_ had fallen, the elven armies had fallen, even Silvermoon fell to them and now they were fleeing with victory so close...vengeance almost tasteable.

"Troll!" cursed someone, striking at Zul'jin and it was Sylvanas. The young Ranger-General easily cutting several wounds on the troll chieftain with her daggers and dodging the clumsy troll' attacks with her agile form.

"Mah vengeance vant be denied!" roared Zul'jin, swinging his axe at Sylvanas.

"Sorry to disappoint you..." smirked Sylvanas, as she locked the troll' weapon down.

"..but you already lost!" added Nathanos, two flaming arrows nocked and released, hitting the troll in the neck and chest, causing horrendous pain for Zul'jin.

"...and...you...messed with the wrong elf..." said Sylvanas, killing off Zul'jin. "...and human..."

Sylvanas smiled at the turned battle - trolls were fleeing back to Zul'Aman and fast; undead were being easily cut down without the dreadlord leading them. Arthas was still easily spotable on the battlefield, his armor lining glowing in holy might as he cut through the remaining brain-dead undead who were too stupid to flee.

'Wait, Lordaeron - **Rivendare**!' thought Sylvanas shocked, giving the battlefield a quick scan for a human lord/knight. Easier said than done, as many a dead knight layed on the battlefield. Yet one person stuck out - **Drathir**, and he was heading for the Sunwell, with King Anasterian following. "ARTHAS!"

"Sylvanas?" asked Arthas confused, hearing his name being shouted until he saw Sylvanas running at her. "I-"

"I need your help! Fast!" replied Sylvanas, skipping the happy reunion.

"Lord Saidan! Take the paladins and finish this battle!"

"At once!" replied the white-haired paladin.

"Where do you need me?"

**XXX**

Rivendare smashed through the final magical defense guarding the elves precious and mysterious source of power, the Sunwell. Even Rivendare could feel the magic emmanating from it - so much power, and the elves kept it to themselves. Not anymore, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large vial that he filled with the magical waters. _One down, five to go._

"What are you doing?" asked Dar'Khan, reaching the Sunwell and saw Rivendare near it.

"Collecting my 'artifact'!" replied Rivendare, drawing his runeblade and pointing it at Dar'Khan. "Or what did you expect?"

"You liar!" cursed Dar'Khan, blasting fire at the death knight.

"Me?" taunted Rivendare, freezing the fireball in mid-air. "Look whose talking elf! What you have done and what you have used to do it. What did you think I was after - a few trinkets or an old staff? I could've bargained that easily from you. Yet you, a mighty 'magister' was too blind or stupid to see the true intention of my conquest...and I thought you elves were _wise_?"

"Burn human!" yelled Dar'Khan, blasting Rivendare with arcane magic which he blocked with a greenish magic-shell.

"Don't make me laugh!" taunted Rivendare, shocking the prideful magister but that made Dar'Khan only angrier. Then he heard other footsteps approach - the elven king.

_'Flee Rivendare! The Lich King still needs you! Don't question, just do it! Now come!'_

'If you say so,' thought Rivendare at Kel'thuzad' order. Hopefully one vial was enough, as for the rest - he swung his runeblade and destroyed the spire of the Sunwell; causing Dar'Khan to rage-out in despair and fury.

"Need to go! Have fun dying!" laughed Rivendare, as he teleported away in a green flash and the structure of the Sunwell collapsed, the once magical waters flowing onto the ground.

"NO! You fool!" heard Dar'Khan coming from Anasterian, their High King.

"You're too fool!" lashed back Dar'Khan, channeling the magical aura of the Sunwell through him, that he had used for centuries for Silvermoon' benefit, not anymore as he literally created a sea of fire to kill Anasterian. "Sitting on your throne! Doing nothing and letting **real** elves suffer for their works! You don't deserve to be King!"

"You...betrayed us," coughed Anasterian, weak from the battle before, as he leaned on his staff and blade. "Let them here...and to **our** sacred place! You don't deserve to be called a magister...or an elf."

"You'll burn for that!" replied Dar'Khan, ready to deliver the killing blow.

"Not this time Dar'Khan!" yelled Sylvanas, arriving with Liadrin and Arthas. Then she as well saw the Sunwell' structure destroyed and fell into a hysteria as well. "You...bastard! Arrogant! Foolish, _**akh'yah**_!"

"What did you call me!" asked Dar'Khan in anger, both suprised and furious at her used word.

"_**Akh'yah**_!" spat Sylvanas, meaning 'magic-cursed or magic-less being' in elven, an insult against an elf and an ultimate insult against a mage.

"Die!" roared Dar'Khan, enveloping them in fire with hatred and the Sunwell fueling his might - yet they were unharmed, thanks to Arthas' holy-shielding.

"You're a power-hungry madman Dar'Khan," spoke Arthas, lifting up _Athe'mar_ in one-hand and Felo'melorn in the other. "...and you hurt Sylvanas. By the Light, you must be brought to justice!"

"Just try human!" replied Dar'Khan, blasting Arthas with magic every second. Yet Arthas simple blocked, shielded and sliced apart Dar'Khan' magical attacks with either sword. "Why won't you die?!"

"I'm a paladin, who is protected by the Light.." said Arthas, smashing through Dar'Khan' magical-shield with Felo'melorn and slicing through his neck with _Athe'mar_, sending Dar'Khan reeling with a bleeding throat. "...but that was for Sylvanas, you son of a bitch."

"I-gh...won't...all-ow it!" coughed Dar'Khan, holding his bleeding neck - utilizing nercomancy learned from the dreaded Baron, as he tried to keep himself from dying. Yet that was the wrong magic to use, as he tried to drain the energies of the Sunwell itself yet still remained wounded and bleeding, while the Sunwell' energies started to gather up too fast.

"It's going to implode!" screamed Liadrin, as the energies gathered and the Sunwell did imploded before her very eyes - the gathered energy-wave burning Dar'Khan alive, luckily Arthas managed to shield them up and save them from a similar fate. But the shrine that held the Sunwell around them came crashing down, the ancient engraved pillars crumbled and the once eternal green grass was burned to a sickly brownish in a circle around them. Then the energy-wave dissapated in a flash, leaving them standing at epicenter.

"That's it..." cried Liadrin, falling to her knees in despair. "...it's over."

"No...it can't be..." coughed Anasterian, his body dying from the injuries at the hands of Dar'Khan. But he saw the destroyed Sunwell as well. "...I failed...all of you..."

"No! **I** did - I couldn't stop it. I don't deserve to be a _Windrunner_," sobbed Sylvanas as well at the sight.

Everybody was saddened at what had happened except for Arthas who understood that the elves had lost something very precious to them, as he edged closer to the once mystic well that had collapsed. Nothing could be lost forever, as he lifted some rubble away from the place - and there, at the bottom stood a small spring, its waters still flowing.

"Sylvanas. Come over here!" urged Arthas, at what he found yet the ranger was too lost in her sorrow to move. So he did the opposite, came up to her and carried the non-resisting elf to the small spring. "Look!"

"No..."

"Yes," added Arthas, still holding her. She was still was crying, yet it turned into happy crying then. "...it remains."

"The Sunwell still remains!" cried out Sylvanas, hugging her savior.

"It does?!" asked Liadrin, going to check herself and found a small spring - it wasn't much, but it was still hope. "By the Light. Thank you!"

"There is still hope?" asked the voice of Anasterian, now weaker.

"Yes, King Anasterian. Some of the Sunwell survived!" replied Liadrin, coming back over to him and trying to heal his wounds. "We need to get you aid fast!"

"Don't. My time has cometh, and I feel it calling..."

"B-but! We can't do this without our King!" said Liadrin, shocked at Anasterian' statement.

"You have been doing this for three thousand years...I have been ruling for too long...but you won't be alone...Kael'thas will lead you..."

"Anasterian! This is no time to play martyr!" cursed Sylvanas, realizing his last wish.

"No...but the high elves need a new way and new leader...and I can't do that...not anymore...find Kael'thas...he is the new leader of Quel'Thalas...don't let him follow my mistakes...tell him...I'm sorry..." said Anasterian, before the life left the eyes of the ancient High King of Quel'Thalas.

"He's dead..." muttered Liadrin, crying a bit over the death of their High King.

"...but not you, or your race, or your homeland," replied Arthas, offering a hand to the priestess, which she accepted. "A new day will arrive, one filled with hope - if the darkness be too much, then I'll shine the Light to your salvation. I owe one of you that."

"You don't have do. You were our salvation," replied Sylvanas, looking upon the setting sun - the Battle for Silvermoon was over, now it was time to finish the Battle for Quel'Thalas...yet luckily...she wouldn't do this alone.

**XXX**

**A/N: The battle has ended, now its time to pick up the pieces...and continue.**

**Please review.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.**

_Chapter 15: Aftermath_

**XXX**

Kael'thas Sunstrider was worried sick, as would be any prince when he suddenly saw injured, women and children appear suddenly in Dalaran; all of them being high elves as well, and hearing that somebody was assaulting your homeland and had breached your capital.

Archmage Antonidas had organized some housing for the refugees, yet from there on they were dragging feet on getting actual _military_ aid to Quel'Thalas. Antonidas and the Kirin Tor weren't ready to send its own forces into an unknown environment, especially against an overwhelming army that had brought Quel'Thalas to its knees - they were currently working on getting aid from the other kingdoms before acting. Yet that made Kael'thas more angrier - by the time they could act it might be too late - and _he _couldn't just sit and do nothing.

Kael'thas by now had been recruiting any high-skilled mage he could find, which by far had only been high elves who had accepted - it was their homeland that needed help afterall and their own prince was asking it.

"Kael? Where are you hurrying off to?" asked a young voice, that Kael'thas instantly recognized and turned around to see it was Jaina.

"I don't have time, Jaina! My homeland is under attack, the Kirin Tor aren't working fast enough! I need to hurry!" replied Kael a little angry, moving faster towards the centre of Dalaran, with Jaina following him.

"What are you planning?"

"I'm going to Quel'Thalas!" replied Kael, moving swiftly.

"I heard it was dangerous - of the refugees speaking of trolls and undead armies," spoke Jaina, trying to keep up. "I've faced these undead, they are a dangerous force."

"I CAN'T WAIT!" yelled Kael, scaring the young mage, although he calmed quickly as Jaina was just being a worried friend, before he continued his walk. "Sorry, but this is **my** land. I can't just sit around - call me crazy or suicidal or whatever, but I am going there with some my people."

"C-can I come?" asked Jaina, being the diplomat and helper she was - if Kael'thas was going to against the Scourge then he might need her expertise; being she was the _only_ person in Dalaran, who fought the undead up close.

"You? Well...I..." stammered Kael at Jaina' offer, he had a liking and crush on the young human mage from the day he had met her. While he'd relish at the chance to work and be close to her, he wasn't in the attitude to put Jaina in danger - yet still. "...alright. But stay close and far away from any danger."

"I'm not helpless Kael, I've faced the undead before. Better you keep close to me," smirked Jaina, although kept her worried expression soon.

"Fair enough..." he added, arriving at the centre of Dalaren, where barely a dozen high elves awaited - mages only sadly. "Brothers, sisters of Quel'Thalas! You have heard the call, **our** homeland is in danger. Unspeakable horrors might await us there, death maybe - if any of you have any second thoughts, then speak up! I understand your fear!"

Nobody uttered a single objection at Kael'thas' short-speech, even Jaina was ready to tag along - being the only human in the group, despite the danger.

"Very well, then to Quel'Thalas!" spoke Kael, conjuring the incantation and they were off.

**XXX**

The moment Kael'thas arrived in Quel'Thalas he mentally prepared for the worst: mangled bodies, burning buildings, with decaying and dying lands all around them - he had heard of the rumours from the returning mages of the _Lordaeron' plague incident_ and it didn't sound pleasant nor was Jaina' description of the undead and how they fought.

All that combined, then Kael'thas was very suprised to find the exact opposite when he had arrived in Silvermoon. Despite standing on blighted ground with a large, destructive path straight through Silvermoon into Quel'Danas, most of everything was still intact and living. Elves were moving about, carrying wounded, supplies or weapons - yet what shocked Kael'thas was that they weren't alone; human knights and even paladins filled the city, carrying or helping with the wounded, trading weaponry and a few talks, then charged off into the forests beyond alongside elven troops.

"They! They are Lordaerons!" spoke Jaina ecstatic, seeing the insignia and being overjoyed of the safety of the high elven people.

'How's this possible?' thought Kael, moving about the city. Everywhere he saw the blue crest - near the injured, among them and helping them, even their dead being gathered up and layed next to elven ones.

"My prince!" spoke up a nearby priestess from her exhausting sessions, recognizing the young prince immediately. "Lady Liadrin! Thank the Light, you have arrived."

"Priestess. What happened here?" asked Kael'thas, almost dreading the answer.

"We...were attacked..." spoke Liadrin, looking saddened by the whole ordeal. "...foul trolls and undead, humans called them _the Scourge_. Our forces, defenses...we were helpless, one of our own betrayed us to _them_...it was too much."

"We heard some rumours not much then, the next hour or so and an entire army is at our doorstep - many of our best fell; the Silver Circle is dead, Grand Magister Belo'vir...even Vandellor..." sniffled Liadrin, taking his adopted father' death heavily. "...King Anasterian too. I'm sorry."

"My? My father is dead?" asked Kael, shocked at the news. A certain blonde mage patting his shoulder at the revelation, trying to soothe his pain which it did to an extend.

"Yes...I'm deeply sorry. He fell in battle against the traitor **Dar'Khan**, who wanted to use the Sunwell for his own purpouses!"

"The Sunwell? Is it safe?" asked Kael, hearing the second worst thing.

"...its structure and shrine was destroyed..." replied Liadrin, causing almost Kael to freeze up from the shock. "...yet some of it survived, there _**is**_ still hope!"

"Oh...good," sighed Kael in relief - although he felt a slight pang in his body: it felt weird, maybe shock upon hearing the Sunwell damaged, or just simple worry. No matter, he'd check it up later.

"Go see Lady Sylvanas and the Lordaeron Prince - they are currently near the entrace of Silvermoon. Planning and...by far keeping us alive. Thank the Light, if Lordaeron hadn't arrived then...I shudder at the thought."

"I will, thank you priestess," replied Kael, heading there with Jaina. Then he caught wind of the words - 'Lordaeron Prince', those words almost seemed unlikely to be uttered _here_, but farther away in the distance over a table with the Ranger-General stood his once-rival, Prince Arthas.

"...the closest villages around Silvermoon have been secured. Now it's a matter of dealing with the undead," spoke Arthas, crossing out a place on the map of Quel'Thalas.

"What about the outer villages?" asked Sylvanas, eyeing the villages at the outskirts of the elven borders.

"One of your, Halduron I remember, went there along with Marwyn, Highlord Mograine and a hundred knights."

"That's good. Then we can cross that out," replied Sylvanas, crossing out the outer villages.

"You might want to send a runner, along with a few soldiers. We don't want them getting between the undead, since most of them would be civilians," added Arthas.

"Lor'themar' closer, I can send an owl to him and request he divert his forces...," said Sylvanas. "...unless?"

"Nono, this is the safest way for the civilians," assured Arthas.

"Yet not for you or your soldiers..." replied Sylvanas.

"We can handle it. We just need to keep the pressure on _them_," said Arthas. They had won the war, yet now they had to kick the undead out of Quel'Thalas who were holding at the Second Silvermoon Gate, while securing the villages, city and driving the Amani away as well - suffice to say, their forces were divided. "Most of them there seem to be the mindless ones: ghouls, spiders, abominations and a flesh golem. Seemed that the _servant_-factor: necromancers and acolytes have made a run for it."

"A problem?"

"Not really, they're likely marching straight into Uther' grasp," said Arthas, crossing out the First Silvermoon Gate. "What about the trolls?"

"Maybe a problem - however, I killed their leader so they should be leaderless for now and they lost a good amount of warriors here as well," calculated Sylvanas. "And even then the trolls can't risk attacking both the elves..._AND_ humans at the same time."

"See your feeling better," teased Arthas, patting her shoulder.

"Not in '_distress' _anymore atleast," chuckled Sylvanas.

"That you're not," replied Arthas in same humour, while their two watchers approached them.

Jaina was one to be suprised at the sight, she had been in a group with Sylvanas months ago but never got to know her in general. Now she was seeing her and Arthas **together,** **and** **laughing** at something - Arthas seemed different as well, in term of a new armor and a new weapon he had on his hip, yet he looked a different man now: more older and aged, while sporting a beard as well. Kael being equally confused as well - _why was Arthas here?_

"Oh! P-prince Kael'thas, hello," said Sylvanas gathering up posture, seeing the elven prince approach them.

"Ranger-General."

"Arthas? What are you doing?" asked Jaina _the_ question.

"Well...saving the high elves...per say..." replied Arthas.

"Why? This isn't your war?" asked Kael.

"...actually...it is!" replied Arthas, more stern in his voice. "..._the_ _Scourge_ ravaged my homeland, my people...and I will be damned, before I let it happen to anothers people."

"I heard...it was bad..." spoke Kael.

"It is - most of our best are dead, the magisters...Anasterian. A straight blighted path runs through our land...and we nearly lost the Sunwell..." said Sylvanas.

"How bad?"

"Of the well...only a small pool remains. The **traitor** attempted to use it, Arthas killed him," replied Sylvanas, and took off a cloth from a blade, Felo'melorn. "...your father's...and he had said something, before his death - 'not to make the same mistakes he did'."

"How can I do that-" sighed Kael, picking up the blade, then dropped it onto the ground. "-when I'm left with my father' mistakes, pieces and burdens."

"...then rise up-" replied Arthas, picking up Felo'melorn from the ground. "-let it make you into a stronger person, and help you make sure this would never happen again. This happened to me once, I was ready to give up, but somebody kept me up and kicking. Time I return the favor."

Arthas then offered Kael the runeblade again, which he hesitantly took up again.

"You aren't alone in this - look to your companions, friends, people to see you through this," added Arthas.

"Who?"

"I consider you a friend Kael," said Jaina,

"Always ready to serve Prince Kael," added Rommath, joining them.

"My service to Quel'Thalas," added Sylvanas as well.

"You aren't as alone as you think. Someone taught me that once," said Arthas, peeking at Sylvanas. "Now get up! You have a kingdom to rebuild."

"My people...we can't do this by ourselves...I might need aid - thus the Alliance..." sighed Kael. "...which I guess they won't be very welcoming to accept, after we left."

"Says who?" asked Arthas, arms crossed. "I'm the prince of Lordaeron, my dearest friend is the king of Stormwind itself, your a Dalaran mage and Jaina' father is the ruler of Kul'Tiras - with the dwarves our close allies as well, a dwarf a dear friend and mentor of me. This isn't as hopeless, as you might think - _hope, is the last thing to fall. Will you allow it to fall?_"

"I won't allow it," said Kael, more confident than before, eyeing his once rival-turned-hero. "Thank you! Prince of Lordaeron."

"Your welcome!" replied Arthas, shaking hands with him. "We'll stay here until this _threat _has been dealt with...so I suffice we'll be staying for awhile...and so I haven't seen much of your city, beside the destroyed part. Mind giving me a look?"

"Me..." realized Sylvanas, at his hints, then grinned at his thought. "...I'm sure I can show you around, we have an hour or so."

"After you," said Arthas, bowing at her to lead - after she written a quick message for an owl and send it flying. "Falric - manage any troubles, will you?"

"Aye, sir!" replied Falric, waving them off, as he then returned to sharpening his blade. However their close-ness caught the attention of one mage, namely a human one.

"Excuse me, Falric? A moment?" asked Jaina, approaching the busy Commander.

"Hmm?"

"If you don't mind me asking - what's up with Arthas and the Ranger?" she asked.

"Not much..." lied Falric.

"Your Arthas' close-friend. I know that Arthas went to Northrend and returned changed. What happened there?"

"I can't say much..." sighed Falric at the mage' curiosity.

"Please? I promise not to tell anybody else."

"Fine. Arthas and Sylvanas are a bit..._close_..." whispered Falric. "...and don't go spreading it. Supposed to be a secret."

"H-how?" asked Jaina suprised.

"Northrend - after you left Stratholme with Uther, Sylvanas had arrived and managed to shake Arthas out of his mad-plan. Then came Northrend - it went bad fast, yet we held strong. Sylvanas kept Arthas, maybe even _us_ from falling apart under the madness - so you'd expect for them to get closer, from that experience."

"Oh..." replied Jaina, a bit saddened as he still considered Arthas close.

"Don't look sad. I saw that new elf-prince giving you a few glances."

"Oh!" blushed Jaina at that statement, glancing at Kael from afar who talking with one of his mage's - he had been showning some interest to her in Dalaran. "...maybe..."

Farther away in the city, Sylvanas had taken Arthas to her own small, yet beautiful house in the city. Despite the heavy fighting, her house was relativly intact - filled with colourful accessories and beautiful silken stuff.

"Whoo!" whistled Arthas at sight. "You elves have a positive outlook on everything."

"True..." replied Sylvanas, removing her hood and cloak, hanging it nearby, letting her long blonde hair lose. "Well...my little kingdom...it ain't Lordaeron, but it's home."

"Kinda small, for someone who protects everything in Quel'Thalas."

"I'm always on the move, usually staying in a Farstrider outpost - I...rarely visit this place..." spoke Sylvanas, feeling bad in her stomach and not due to the wound there.

"Something wrong?" asked Arthas concerned.

"My family grew up here, small...but cozy," remembred Sylvanas. "...then war drove us apart - parents had passed away by then. I was left with my two sisters - my older one, gone...beyond the Dark Portal. My younger...missing somewhere as well, on a journey of her own."

"Hey. You aren't alone," spoke Arthas, hugging her.

"True..." nodded Sylvanas, enjoying the warmth and closeness after everything that had happened.

"-and Falric, Marwyn-"

"-stop it!" giggled Sylvanas, her mood lightened up from that. "You saved us - me _and_ my homeland."

"I still owe you," replied Arthas, stroking her long blond threads. "...and I protect the ones I care about..."

"Thanks anyway..."

"Oh! Almost forgot..." realized Arthas, fishing out a blue-sapphire pendant from his pouch. "...this yours?"

"Oh my-" spoke Sylvanas, feeling her neck - gone. "-I didn't realize that I had lost it."

"Precious to you, yes?" asked Arthas, placing the pendant in her hands.

"You don't know the half of it - this is a piece of three, from a larger pendant of my mother, long ago. My older sister broke it apart and gave each of us a piece - so we'd never feel separated," said Sylvanas, sheding tears at this. "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you."

"Always..." replied Arthas, kissing the teary elf, who looped her arms around his neck.

**XXX**

**A/N: D'awhhh...ain't that adorable? (Arthas and Kael bros now? Ya!)**

**Please review.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard. **

_Chapter 16: New Beginnings_

**XXX**

Five weeks later, and the now crowned leader of Quel'Thalas - _Prince_ Kael'thas Sunstrider was awaiting in the Imperial Hall of Lordaeron for the Alliance ambassadors to arrive, a meeting called by Prince Arthas. Kael'thas himself had stuck with the title of prince, declaring his father Anasterian the last High King of Quel'Thas, mostly out of respect for his long rule and to remind himself of not being like his father, hence the meeting.

Silvermoon and the whole of Quel'Thalas was in a sense, cut in half by the blighted path running through its land - thankfully the high elven mages, priests and a few druids were already making progress in cleansing the land alongside the human paladins. The Sunwell making it a bit easier to heal the land as well. One thing he was glad for was that Quel'Thalas wasn't cut in half in a literal sense, thanks to Lordaeron' forces driving out the Scourge and hunting down the Amani, once and for all.

Another problem now was this 'feeling of withdrawl' he had started feeling weeks ago - that the _new_ Grand Magister of Silvermoon Rommath had been forced to find out why, as it had struck **every **high elf. It didn't take long and soon Rommath had reported back the awful truth - the sudden lack and cut in the Sunwell' energies had affected the high elves more physically than emotionally; like an addiction as Rommath had said it plainly and the high elf race were now feeling the effects of withdrawl.

Luckily it wasn't very bad, as the Sunwell still existed, yet now a warning and law was being issued for the high elves to cut back and conserve using magic - less they feel more sick from the withdrawl: pain, paleness and even painful spasms. None had fortunately died from it but it affected their entire civilization now - magic needed to be used wisely, not when it made live easier. Mages and magisters were affected the most, him included, since they used magic the most - luckily there were ways to ease the withdrawl: taking mana stones, proximity to a magical nexus or energy source such as Dalaran or closeness to an equal magical being.

For Kael that meant interacting with Jaina, more than usual, who stood behind him for some support and aid - she was a bit more welcoming to his advances now, for some reason, so it lightened the atmosphere around them a bit. Along that, it eased the before thumping in his head to a simple ache in his neck - atleast he didn't need to use any mana stones, you had to use them wisely as well noe, else you made your withdrawl worse. He did keep two mana stones on him though, just incase.

Across the table sat Arthas, going over a few papers from the invasion - Lordaeron had lost five-hundred soldiers and General Abbendis to their blitz, with a quarter of their forces injured as well. Both kingdoms had suffered greatly to this war: the high elves had lost half of their standing army and nearly three-quarters of the entire Silvermoon guards...and a quarter of their population. Eastern Lordaeron was still being rebuilt with one soul in two dead to the plague or the undead - in red ink was written - about 300,000 souls lost to the Scourge, a very depressive number, but it could've been much, much worse.

Sylvanas stood next to him, looking her usual healthy self, as much as one can from a full-blown invasion. Rangers, druids, priests and a few elves who weren't big magic users weren't as affected by the withdrawl as the rest - their withdrawl only causing them minor feelings of fatigue, according to Rommath it was due to them having a per say 'fall-back' from the arcane magic, be it the Light or drew their energies from nature, or minor users being satisfied by the amount of magic the Sunwell gave off now. Sylvanas having the luck of being both a natural ranger and not a mage, while also being close to a powerful Light-wielder.

Soon the silence was broken as the first ambassador arrived, from Stormwind. A young, yet armored man who bore the traits and a few scars of a hardened warrior.

"Arthas!"

"Varian!" replied Arthas in a similar gruff manner, as both men clasped their hands and shoulders together. "Still the ol' hardy veteran I see."

"Same to you, old friend!" laughed Varian, sizing up Arthas. "See you've put on a bit of muscle. That sword ain't too heavy for, ya?"

"Wanna try it?" grinned Arthas in response. "But maybe later, important business I'know."

"If you say so," replied Varian, patting an armored hand on his shoulder before taking a seat.

Soon enough the other ambassadors arrived: Archmage Antonidas from Dalaran, Admiral Daelin Proudmoore of Kul'Tiras and King Magni Bronzebeard from Khaz Modan. The last to arrive, albeit late, was Stromgarde although instead of the mighty warrior-king Thoras, they were greeted by the young Prince Galen Trollbane instead.

"I pardon for the delay...but my kingdom was going through troubled times. Our king had been just assassinated..." mourned Galen sadly.

"No offense taken - I had called this meeting, to discuss something important. Something that has threatened our very existence, while we have been divided," spoke Arthas, as he rose from his seat. "The Scourge!"

"Many of you might not know them, so let me clarify - they are a worser threat than the orcs...trolls...ogres...gnolls and murlocs..." spoke Arthas, walking around the table. "...combined!"

"They are force to which the concept of fear is equal to the brains in their head - or non-existend. An army created by the darkest magic - necromancy, and with a level of skill that makes even the elves shutter," he added. "For every undead we slay, watch out! For every warrior they kill, their numbers increase - an enemy, whose army grows, while ours die off. Their location - Northrend!"

"Then what are waiting for? Let's go get them!" spoke up Varian.

"Patience Varian. Don't get eager - I have been to that horrid wasteland: cold, freezing, a place that could drive a man insane. We'll need the support of everyone to make that happen, yet a more important task awaits first - recovery."

"Lordaeron faced against the first wave - a plague, made to kill and revive its people as undead servants; that was stopped. Then they turned towards Quel'Thalas - almost succeeding in wiping out their entire race; luckily that was stopped. We we're at **WAR**! Against an unknown enemy, who sought to divide us and to isolate us - and piece by piece destroy us! That can't be allowed to happen again!"

"What to you plan, Prince Arthas?" asked Antonidas.

"Disband the Alliance of Lordaeron," replied Arthas, hearing gasps and shocks at his statement, but he raised a hand to calm them. "And create a new Alliance - _**the Grand Alliance**_ - not just another political, economic or military alliance born out of necessity. But a true union of our kingdoms, where we can depent on and help eachother - we share these lands, the fruits and benefits...but also the dangers and threats. We can stand united or fall divided!"

"I choose to unite and fight!" said Arthas, drawing Athe'mar. "Who will join us?"

"I will!" replied Varian, drawing his own sword and placing it on Athe'mar. "May our courage never falter."

"May our ancestors watch over us!" added Kael, adding Felo'melorn.

"Our will be as unbreakable as da' mountains!" added Magni, with his hammer.

"Wisdom guide our path!" added Antonidas, with his staff.

"And the Light shine our way!" added Daelin, with his cutlass.

All had crossed weapons with eachother, except for Galen who looked saddened at the sight.

"I...am ashamed to admit...that I might not able to join...as for in a few months my kingdom would likely soon cease to exist..." spoke Galen saddened. "...against the tide of traitors, ogres and undead who are assaulting my lands."

"You. Prince of Stromgarde! Rise!" replied Arthas to the mourning leader. "Hold your head high and your sword higher - for your people have sacrificed much for us, many life because of your peoples heroics and **you** should never feel ashamed! Ever! Rise up and may the people not find you wanting, for your people are always welcomed and honored here."

"As well in Stormwind!" added Varian to the heroes of Stromgarde.

"...then...may our strength...be unmatched!" added Galen, placing his blade on the pile.

"Such, lets us be know known as the Grand Alliance!" yelled Arthas.

"For the Grand Alliance!" cheered everybody in approval and sheated their weapons.

"Anything you need ol'friend - soldiers, aid. We can help you," asked Varian.

"Aye! Same from the dwarves!" added Magni.

"I'm grateful - but Varian and Magni, any forces you can spare I want directed at saving Stromgarde and its people!" replied Arthas.

"As you wish!"

"Admiral Proudmoore?" asked Arthas, turning towards the legendary seaman. "Any supplies you could spare, will be very welcomed."

"That I can!" nodded the aged Proudmoore.

"Antonidas?"

"Not to worry - I'm already planning to send aid and mages to help both Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas," replied the archmage.

"I thank all of you, for coming and for your support. Know this - if any kingdom requires aid in the future, then Lordaeron will answer!"

"As will Stormwind!"

"As will Quel'Thalas!"

"Kul'Tiras too!"

"Dalaren as well!"

"And in time, so will Stromgarde!"

**XXX**

Uther during the whole ordeal had been calmly watching and nodding up Arthas' words as the whole event unfold and he was shocked at what Arthas had accomplished. Managing to rally aid and support from the other kingdoms, yet also unite them under a new banner. When he explained this to Terenas a few minutes later even he was suprised.

"Twenty years...and he has united us once again," spoke Terenas, unbelieving it.

"He will be a great king. I'm now sure of it!" added Uther.

"Yes...he is," replied Terenas, in deep thought. "Dear friend...I think its time."

"Really? Are you sure?" asked Uther, suprised at Terenas' suddenness.

"Yes - I have ruled for long enough and Arthas has matured into the ruler I wished him to be. It's time these old bones retired," said Terenas, removing the crown he had worn for seventy years. "Go inform him - I am stepping down after seventy years of rule and Arthas is to be crowned the next King of Lordaeron."

"As you wish, old friend..." nodded Uther solemly, as he went to the Imperial Hall - part of him felt worried, yet a part of him felt proud. "Arthas!"

"Oh? Yes, Uther. Right away," replied Arthas, finishing his talks with Kael'thas and Varian. "I was just finishing the support and cooperation plans between our kingdoms."

"So I've heard. Listen, I have something important to tell you."

"Me as well. While Gilneas is still walled off and didn't join this meeting, as per their usual attitude, I believe a warning should be send to them. I know my father would understand the principle - even I wouldn't wish the Scourge upon Gilneas."

"What about you?" asked Uther.

"Well I-wait what?"

"You heard me right, boy," chuckled Uther.

"What do you mean?"

"Terenas has stepped down and declared you the next King of Lordaeron," replied Uther, shocking Arthas stiff. "So if you feel it so, then we can do that."

"R-really?" asked Arthas, still unbelieving it.

"Really! Your father believes you're ready for this, _King Arthas_," replied Uther.

"Then...I have to do something as my first role as King," said Arthas, going over to Sylvanas.

"You do that," chuckled Uther at what was about to happen.

"Sylvanas!"

"Arthas, I-OH!" replied Sylvanas, before getting embraced in a hug. "Oh! I should be hugging you for what yo-"

"Shh! Please listen," said Arthas, interupting her.

"What ar-" asked Sylvanas, before he started to speak into her ear - in Thalassian, her own tongue, short yet meaningful words. Each word causing her to blush.

"Anar'alah!" gasped Sylvanas, until she felt it. That made her gasp even louder, even more shocked from the joy. "_Dalah'surfal_?"

"Yes! Will you?" asked Arthas, pulling her to arms length.

"_**YES!**_" screamed Sylvanas in joy, kissing Arthas in plain-sight of the respective ambassadors, yet she didn't care if they saw or knew anymore. Only that they saw the golden ring in her finger, as she kissed him.

**XXX**

Deep below in the Scholomance crypt a ritual was being performed, as the remains of Kel'thuzad were in the process of being revived

"Thus serve the Lich King! Once more!" spoke Rivendare, pouring the vial of magical waters over Kel'thuzad' corpse as the necromancers and acolytes did their chanting and magic. No sooner did his bones start to set in place, the decayed flesh absorbed into the bones itself and two green orbs lit up in the empty skull.

"I am reborn, as promised!" roared Kel'thuzad, rising from his grave anew - as a skeletal mage. "And now it's time my friend, for the Lich King to be freed from his jailors."

No sooner did Rivendare hear the undead turn on the few Nathrezim enforcers in the Scholomance. Kel'thuzad and the Cult turning on the dreadlord, who had aided in the ritual.

"We've-"

"-been binding our time," chuckled Kel'thuzad, summoning up some robes around his new skeletal body - as the dreadlord was dealt with. "With Tichondrius gone, so has the only true jailor against the Lich King."

"And he's-"

"-been 'playing dead' as you might call it," replied Kel'thuzad in an amused tone, blasting a nearby dreadlord with his new powers. "The Legion would've turned on us sooner or later, so our Master decided to act first."

"What now?" asked Rivendare.

"We move, this location is becoming to dangerous to use, the humans would find us sooner or later," said Kel'thuzad.

"Northrend?"

"No! Our Master is busy there - eliminating his jailors, but he also doesn't want to lose his presence here," added Kel'thuzad. "No, we're heading to Stromgarde - our forces are already assaulting those lands. It will be perfect."

"Is it wise to reveal ourselves?" asked Rivendare.

"We're already revealed. We need a fortress - against the humans and the Legion," spoke Kel'thuzad.

"You haven't told me what this Legion is exactly."

"Don't worry, I'll explain it all on our way to Stromgarde," replied Kel'thuzad, as they headed outside with Scholomance still in uproar against the losing dreadlords.

**XXX**

**A/N: High elves now need to get a bit 'touchy' to not get 'sicky' from their magic-addiction. Kel'thuzad isn't a full-blown Lich, a simple yet cunning skeletal mage instead. Oh yeah and the Alliance is more united, Arthas is King and...has proposed to Sylvanas. (xD)**


End file.
